
T,>i,-ir, -ivi-,1 l'ii ft .Tiiiilai 




Landau Edward Mbmn , Dover Street. 
1837 



i ■ ; !. 



POETIC AX. WORKS' 



CO). 



T'M. D)Iii\S IF p 







183?, 



THE 



POETICAL WORKS 



THOMAS PRINGLE 



A SKETCH OF HIS LIFE, BY LEITCH RITCHIE. 



LONDON: 
EDWARD MOXON, DOVER STREET 



MDCCCXXXIX. 




1 



LONPON : 
iKAUBURY AND EVANS, PRINTI 
WHITEFHIAKS. 



\ 



\ 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

This Work is not published in the usual way, but entirely 
for the benefit of Mr. Pringle^s Widow. 

January 6, 1838. 



CONTENTS. 



AFRICAN SKETCHES. 

DEDICATION TO SIR WALTER SCOTT 

THE BECHUANA BOY 

AFAR IN THE DESERT . 

SONG OF THE WILD BUSHMAN 

THE CORANNA 

THE KOSA .... 

EVENING RAMBLES 

THE LION HUNT .... 

THE LION AND GIRAFFE 

THE EMIGRANT'S CABIN 

AN EMIGRANT'S SONG 

makanna's GATHERING 

THE INCANTATION 

THE CAFFER COMMANDO 

A NOON-DAY DREAM 

THE BROWN HUNTERS SONG 

THE EXILE'S LAMENT 

THE CAPTIVE OF CAMALU 

THE DESOLATE VALLEY 

THE GHONA WIDOw's LULLABY 

THE ROCK OF RECONCILEMENT . 

THE FORESTER OF THE NEUTRAL GROUND 

THE SLAVE DEALER 

THE TORNADO .... 

PARAPHRASE OF THE TWENTY-THIRD PSALM 



PAGE 
2 

3 

8 

11 

12 

13 
15 

20 
22 
23 
33 
34 
36 
38 
39 
42 
43 
45 
48 
50 
53 
54 
58 
60 
62 



VI 



CONTENTS. 



SONNETS. 



THE HOTTENTOT 

THE CAFFEB 

THE BUSHMAN 

SLAVEBY 

FBANSCHEHOEIi 

GENADENDAL . 

ENON 

THE GOOD MISSIONABY 

TO THE BEV. DB. PHILIP 

A COMMON CHABACTEB 

THE NAMELESS STBEAM 

MY COUNTBY 

THE CAPE OF STOBMS 

TO OPPBESSION 



PAG K 

64 
65 
ib. 

ib. 
67 
ib. 
68 
ib. 
69 
ib. 
70 
ib. 
71 



THE EMIGBANTS 



72 
99 



EPHEMERIDES. PART I.— JUVENILE POEMS. 

THE AUTUMNAL EXCUBSION . • 

STBEAMS, WHOSE LONELY WATERS GLIDE 

A GBACEFUL FOBM, A GENTLE MIEN 

THE LEGEND OF THE BOSE .... 

THE WBEATH ..... 

FBAGMENTS OF A DBEAM OF FA1BY-LAND 

LINES WBITTEN ON THE DEATH OF AN EA\RLY FBIEND 

A PABTING DIBGE ..... 

ELEGIAC STANZAS ..... 



117 
135 
1,37 
138 
340 
142 
161 
163 
165 



CONTENTS. 



EPHEMERIDES. PART II SONGS AND SONNETS. 



SONGS. 

I. LOVE AND SOLITUDE 

II. MAID OF MY HEART A LONG FAREWELL ! 

III. I'LL BID MY HEART BE STILL 

IV. O THE EWE-BUGHTINg's BONNY 
V. MARY OF GLEN-FYNE 

VI. COME AWA, COME AWA ! 
VII. THE HIGHLANDS ! 
VIII. THE DARK-HAIRED MAID 

IX. OH ! NOT WHEN HOPES ARE BRIGHTEST 
X. PLEASANT TEVIOTDALE 
XI. DEAREST LOVE ! BELIEVE ME 



PAGE 

167 
168 

169 

170 
172 
173 

174 
175 
176 
177 
179 



I. TO AN EARLY FRIEND 

II. TO THE RIVER EARN 

III. OF LOVE AND LOVe's DELIGHT 

IV. LONG YEARS OF SORROW 

V. THE EMBLEM 

VI. TO LORD LYNEDOCH 

VII. TO A FEMALE RELATIVE 

VIII. TO AFFLICTION .... 

IX. ON PARTING WITH A FRIEND GOING ABROAD 

X. TO THE POET CAMPBELL . 

XI. POETS ARE NATURE'S PRIESTS 



181 
182 

ib. 

183 

ib. 
184 

ib. 
185 

ib. 
186 

ib. 






Vlll 



CONTENTS. 



EPHEMERIDES. PART III.— MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



THE SPAEWIFE .... 

LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM 

a poet's FAVOURITE .... 

ON A VIEW OF SPOLETO .... 

VERSES ON THE RESTORATION OF DESPOTISM IN SPAIN 
THE REFUGEES ..... 

SPANIARDS, YIELD NOT TO DESPAIR ! 

OUR NEIGHBOUR ..... 

MEMENTO ..... 

THE VALLEY OF HUMAN LIFE 

LINES TO THE MEMORY OF THE REV. DR. WAUGH 

A HYMN ...... 

INSCRIPTION FOR A TOMBSTONE 



PAGE 

187 
190 
192 
193 
195 
198 
201 
202 
203 
ib. 
208 
210 
211 



MEMOIRS 



OF 



THOMAS PRINGLE 



CHAPTER I. 



Introduction — His Ancestry, Birth, and Education — Lameness- 
Early Piety — Amusements — College Life and Attainments — 
Anecdote of his juvenile Chivalry — Entrance into the Register 
Office — Defence from the Charge of being an Author by 
Profession — His first Publication — Religious Studies — Hypo- 
chondria — Critical Attainments — Development of his Mind — 
Contributions to Albyn's Anthology and the Poetic Mirror — 
Projected Magazine — Retirement from the Register Office — 
Editorship of Blackwood's Magazine, the Star Newspaper, and 
Constable's Magazine — Marriage — Failure of his Literary Projects 
and return to the Register Office — Declension of his Pecuniary 
Resources — Resolution to try a New Country — Departure for 
Southern Africa at the head of a family band of Emigrants. 

It is usual to commence the life of an author with 
an apology for the want of events to interest or amuse. 
The history of such an individual, say the biographers, 
is the history of his mind, and its productions ; for, in 

b > 






X MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

his personal career, it is rare to find a literary man 
travelling out of the beaten road of life. It is possible 
that I too might have this excuse for dulness, were 
Pringle's claims to distinction founded onhj on his 
literary genius ; but, in reality, he did not covet so 
much the admiration as the gratitude of his fellows. 
He was never, at any period of his life, a mere author. 
Literature, with him, was inseparably connected with 
the practical amelioration of the human race— it was the 
armour he assumed in the great struggle of civilization. 
This was the case throughout his whole career, although 
more apparent to the public in the latter years of his 
life ; when, owing to his double position as a literary 
man, and the Secretary of the Anti-Slavery Society, he 
formed the connecting link between the press and the 
sacred cause of freedom — or, if I may use the expres- 
sion in a restricted sense — between the moral and intel- 
lectual world. 

In this point of view, it becomes a curious and inte- 
resting task to trace the history of such an individual ; 
and I only regret that, owing to circumstances which 
do not at present appear susceptible of explanation, it 
should have fallen into my hands*. My intimacy, 

* The circumstances are simply these. After Mr. Pringle's death, 
his widow, considering Mr. John Fairbairn to be, for many reasons, 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. XI 

however, with the subject of this memoir, although not 
extending through a period of many years, enabled me 
fully to appreciate his character ; and I sit down to 
embody in these pages such information as I have been 
able to collect, and which would otherwise be dissipated 
and lost,— with the conviction on my mind, that I per- 
form a task as acceptable to the chivalrous and high- 
minded, as it will be grateful to the feelings of the good 
and pure. 

The ancestors of Thomas Pringle were Border farmers, 
and appear, for several generations back, to have been 
men of great respectability and private worth. His 
grandfather, William Pringleof Blaiklaw, was something 

the most competent person to write her husband's memoirs, and also 
the individual most likely to regard the task in the light of a sacred 
duty, transmitted to him, to the Cape of Good Hope, all the mate- 
rials she could collect, and more especially some papers of great value 
by the Rev. Robert Story. Now, I freely admit that Mr. Fairbairn, 
the champion of freedom and civilisation in that colony, may have had 
sufficient business on his hands to serve as a good excuse : but the 
singular thing is, that he never made any reply whatever to Mrs. 
Pringle's communication, nor to subsequent letters addressed to him 
on the subject by Mr. Allan Cunningham and Mr. Thomas Roscoe. 
He kept every thing he received, maintaining to this day a pro- 
found silence. On this conduct I do not venture any comment, 
being aware of the mistakes and misconceptions which so frequently 
arise from the mere circumstance of distance ; but it was impossible 
to avoid adverting to an occurrence which has rendered my present 
task one of great difficulty to myself, and, I fear, of but little profit 

to the reader. 

b 2 



Xll MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

more than this. He was a genuine specimen of the 
Scottish farmer of the olden time, who, in our day, 
hardly exists, except in the pages of Sir Walter. He 
was himself the grandson of a William Pringle, who 
held the farm of Yair, probably, as it would appear, on 
a feudal tenure as a kinsman of the laird of Whytbank, 
and lived in an old tower, or peel, at the foot of the 
Craig-hill of Yair, on Tweedside. 

In the fourth generation, the ancestral rudeness and 
severity of temper, had subsided into the calm, steady 
respectability of character which distinguished a class of 
men who have been long the boast of Scotland ; and the 
father of Thomas Pringle possessed all the strength of 
mind of one parent, tempered by all the true piety and 
human-kindliness of the other. 

Thomas himself was born at Blaiklaw, otherwise 
called Easterstead, on the 5th of January, 1789. — 
" I was the third child," says he, in an epistolary frag- 
ment found among his papers, " of a family of four 
sons and three daughters, which my father had by his 
first marriage. It is said that I was a remarkably 
healthy infant ; but when I was only a few months old, 
I met with an accident in the nurse's arms, by which my 
right limb was dislocated at the hip-joint. The nurse, 
unfortunately, concealed the incident at the time ; and, 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. Xlll 

though it was speedily discovered that something was 
wrong with the limb, and I was carried to Kelso for 
medical advice, the nature of the injury was not ascer- 
tained until a very considerable period had elapsed, and 
it was no longer practicable to reduce the dislocation. 
I was thus rendered lame for life. 

" My early reminiscences reach back to a period when 
I must have been about three years old, or little more. 
I remember of being carried to Kelso when about that 
age, and being tormented by doctors examining my 
limb, and making me wear a red morocco boot, with 
steel bandages to keep it in some prescribed position. 
These appliances were of no advantage, and were, ere 
long, superseded by a pair of crutches. The latter I 
soon learned to use with such ease and adroitness, that, 
during my boyhood and youth, (when I generally 
enjoyed robust health,) I felt but little incommoded by 
my lameness. Nanny Potts, the old nurse in whose 
hands the accident had happened to me, never forgave 
herself for being the unintentional cause of my misfor- 
tune, and to make amends, indulged me, so far as she 
could, in every caprice. I consequently ruled her with 
despotic sway, and soon became sufficiently wayward 
and headstrong to require strict discipline on the part 
of my parents to prevent me from being quite spoiled. 



XIV MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

" When I was about five years of age, 1 accompanied 
my two eldest brothers, William and John, daily to 
school. We rode, all three, on one stout galloway, the 
foremost guiding our steed, and the other two holding 
fast each by the jacket of the one before him. We 
carried our noon-tide meal, consisting usually of a bar- 
ley bannock and a bottle of milk, in a wallet ; and my 
crutches were slung, one on each side, to the pommel 
of the long padded saddle (called sodds) on which we 
sat. The road ." 

The dislocation of his limb will be noted as an im- 
portant link in the chain of his history. With great 
buoyancy of spirits, and a strong predilection for all the 
manly sports, it is not improbable that, in the rustic 
seclusion of Blaiklaw, the physical might have carried it 
over the moral creature, or at least divided the sway. As 
it was, the useless limb, which he was destined to drag 
laboriously about for the rest of his life, served as a check 
and a memento ; and must often, even when his youthful 
glee was at its highest, have sent his thoughts back to 
himself. His wildness of spirit was thus early chastened, 
and, without losing his relish for the toilsome pleasures 
of his age, he grew up a cheerful and yet meditative 
boy. This was his only personal defect, and even this 
was, in a great degree, overmastered by the spirit within. 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. XV 

When wandering with him, in later years, among the 
gentle hills of Highgate, I rarely remembered that my 
buoyant-minded friend was on crutches ; and the fact 
of his lameness was as little observable when scouring 
the deserts of South Africa, to rouse the wild elephant 
from his lair. 

His piety when a child was somewhat remarkable, 
as it appears to have existed as something altogether 
extraneous from the outward forms and observances 
that are usually inculcated by religious parents. His 
old nurse relates, that when she returned to the house, 
after an absence on business, she frequently found the 
boy on his knees, engaged in fervent prayer ; and yet at 
the same time she accuses him of having been "not 
half so keen of divinity on a Sunday, as of history on 
a week day." The good woman, it is true, was accus- 
tomed to inflict what she called divinity as a punishment, 
which may account for the little relish he had for it ; 
but the extraordinary thing is, that the child was able 
to separate so completely the idea of religion from that 
of the books which inculcate it. 

At six years of age he lost his excellent mother, who 
was a daughter of Mr. Thomas Haitlie, a Berwickshire 
farmer ; and to the memory of this revered parent, 
although so early removed, he seems to have clung 



XVI MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

with extraordinary fondness. "His filial veneration 
seemed, indeed," says an intimate and early friend, 
"to increase with his distance from the time of his 
bereavement." So late as 1812, he thus expresses 
himself in one of his letters — " I recollect her dis- 
tinctly, and particularly all the circumstances connected 
with the last days of her life. How could I ever 
forget the last kind and solemn words, the farewell 
smile, the parting embrace of my mother — of such a 
mother ! " 

" And, when that gentlest human friend 
No more her anxious eye could bend 
On me, by young affliction prest 
More close to her maternal breast, 
I deem'd she still beheld afar 
My sorrows from some peaceful star ; 
In slumber heard her faintly speak, 
And felt her kiss upon my cheek*." 

His earliest and favourite amusements were garden- 
ing, fishing, and working with mechanical tools. In 
the last-mentioned employment he exhibited consider- 
able dexterity; and the same natural turn which 
enabled him to construct a fishing-rod out of a crutch, 
found exercise, in after years, in supplying his lonely 
African hut with at least substitutes for the conveni- 

* Autumnal Excursion. 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. XVII 

ences of civilised life. Books, however, were his 
grand resource — fairy tales, ghost stories, narratives of 
adventure and vicissitude, but especially of battles. 
" O that I had a book full of battles ! " cried he ; and 
his old nurse, delighted that she could gratify the 
taste of her darling, and at the same time insinuate 
" divinity," hastened to put into his hands Bunyan's 
« Holy War." 

In his fourteenth year he was sent to the grammar- 
school of Kelso, to learn the rudiments of Latin ; and 
three years after he went to Edinburgh, to complete 
his studies at the university. Thither he was accom- 
panied by Robert Story, a boy about his own age, 
now the Rev. Robert Story, minister of Roseneath, 
on the Clyde. The two lads lodged in the same 
room, where for a long time, amidst the novelties of a 
capital, they still continued to " remember their Crea- 
tor in the days of their youth." They performed 
religious service regularly, as they had been accus- 
tomed to see it done at home, taking the duty alter- 
nately. The sabbath they kept holy, as they had been 
taught to do ; avoiding so much as opening a book on 
that day which was not of a directly religious character. 
Pringle greatly admired Dr. M'Crie, and usually at- 
tended public worship at his meeting-house. 

" Among the remembrances of the first evening we 



XV111 MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

spent together," says his friend, "it may deserve notice, 
that, on comparing our attainments in literature, he 
mentioned with peculiar delight, Park's ' Travels ' and 
Campbell's ' Pleasures of Hope ; ' quoting that fine 
passage in the latter which ends with the line, 

' And Freedom shrieked when Kosciuzko fell/ 

It must have seemed very unlikely, at that, time, that 
a young man suffering from incurable lameness should 
become a traveller ; but the congenial enthusiasm which 
the adventures of the African traveller awakened in his 
mind, peculiarly fitted him for assisting in laying the 
foundations of a new colony in the wilds of Southern 
Africa ; while, in his admiration of Campbell's verse, 
may be traced the germinating love of freedom and ab- 
horrence of oppression, which became the ruling passion 
and determining motive of his future life." 

" My first impressions of his mind and heart," con- 
tinues this same friend, " were deepened by every 
opportunity I had during a long friendship and confi- 
dential intercourse with him. His warmth of affection, 
his ingenuousness, and his integrity, were, at the very 
commencement of our fellowship, as truly revealed to 
me in his sayings and doings, as if I had known him 
for years. There was such a reality in the beautiful 
morale of his nature, that conveyed to you at once the 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. XIX 

impression of his being worthy of confidence and love. 
When at college, he was of studious habits, and attended 
diligently to the duties of his different classes ; and 
although he did not make a brilliant figure, his appear- 
ance was altogether respectable, when examined by the 
Professor. He did not, however, although studious, 
extend as he might have done, his classical know- 
ledge. His readings during the hours not engaged in 
the preparation of the lessons of the day, consisted 
chiefly in the belles-lettres of his mother tongue. He 
was much more conversant with English poetry and 
criticism at the time, than students of his standing gene- 
rally were ; and he had not been many months in town 
(Edinburgh), before he assisted in organising a small 
weekly club, where his general attainments were avail- 
able, either in himself producing, or in criticising, an 
essay in prose or in verse, written by the members in 
turn. His habits were exceedingly correct, as his 
thoughts and feelings were most pure ; while, amid the 
trials of an academic life, his devotional bias lost little 
of its power. During the whole session, alternately 
with his companion, he conducted worship in his 
apartment, after the fashion of devout Scottish fami- 
lies ; thus reverently observing the practice of his 
fathers. On Sundays, he generally attended public 



XX MEMOIRS OP THOMAS PKINGLE. 

worship in the meeting-house of Dr. M'Crie, the 
well-known biographer of Knox and Melvil. The 
session closed, he returned, with an increased admi- 
ration and love, to the scene of his nativity. I 
never knew any one who had a more intense delight 
in looking at nature. He seemed to find a life and 
loveliness in every thing, — to have a capacity of sym- 
pathy with all the varieties of beauty and grandeur. 
Although lame, he had a passion for ascending hills. 
The top of Hounam-law was to him especially conse- 
crated ground, from which he could command such 
prospects of the traditionary country, of the legends of 
which he was now acquiring rapidly the knowledge. 
He reluctantly left the country for the succeeding term, 
during which his habits were but little changed. To 
the country again returning, he made many a pil- 
grimage to classical spots in Teviot Dale. One of 
these, to St. Mary's Loch, in which I accompanied him, 
formed the subject of a poem afterwards published in 
the Poetic Mirror, under the title of ' The Autumnal 
Excursion.' " 

To this picture of his habits I may add, that he 
made numerous acquaintances, and more than the 
common number of friends; for his bland yet sprightly 
manners, and his kindliness of disposition, rendered 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. Xxi 

more striking by the haughty scorn he evinced of every 
thing mean or base, attracted at once respect and 
affection wherever he went. 

One little instance of his hatred of oppression may 
be given ; and the rather that it serves to distinguish 
the generous, yet passive and somewhat sulky, feeling, 
which is so common, from the active will and determi- 
nation which was the peculiar character of his mind. 
When the " Family Legend" was about to be produced 
upon the Edinburgh stage, a report arose — and, though 
evidently without foundation, was believed — that the 
Edinburgh Reviewers and their numerous disciples had 
resolved, in order to vindicate the critical opinions of 
that celebrated work, to assemble in the theatre on the 
fateful night, and damn the play. Here was scope for 
the chivalry of Pringle. The drama, as an acting 
piece, was prejudged — its author was a woman. Others, 
more especially they who were forced to drag themselves 
through the business of life on crutches, may have been 
loud in their indignation : but our friend w 7 as active in 
his. Before the time came, he had organised a body of 
forty or fifty young men, armed with clubs, who, as 
soon as the doors were opened, rushed into the house, 
and took possession of the centre of the pit. Every 
murmur of disapprobation was drowned by a simulta- 



XX11 MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

neons shout from this formidable corps ; and amidst 
their cheering, clapping, and ruffing, the sound of their 
leader's heavy crutches was heard as distinctly as the 
knocks of Addison's trunk-maker. To this circum- 
stance was owing, in all probability, the fortunate 
career of a drama by no means worthy of the genius of 
Joanna Baillie. 

It is stated in the Quarterly Review, that Pringle 
became a parochial schoolmaster, and afterwards devoted 
himself to literature as a profession. This is altoge- 
ther a mistake. He never was a parochial schoolmaster, 
and never gave up a certainty for the uncertainties of 
literature. He had the usual difficulties in choosing a 
walk in life, and, owing to his lameness, more than the 
usual difficulties. He hesitated for some time between 
law and medicine ; but, feeling a natural repugnancy 
at the idea of giving himself up to a study in which he 
felt no peculiar interest, but yet which must thence- 
forth become his fate through life, he came to no deci- 
sion. It was necessary, however, to do something; 
and at length, when an opportunity presented itself, 
he entered, as a clerk, into the service of his Majesty's 
Commissioners on the Public Records of Scotland. 

This is stated, even by his friend Mr. Story, to have 
been " the great practical error of his life — the rejec- 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. XX111 

tion of the claims of each profession, and a too great 
confidence in the profitableness of literary employment 
of some kind or other." The employment he under- 
took, however, — that of copying the old records,— was 
rather mechanical than literary, and it was remunerated 
by a regular salary ; while the Register Office seemed 
to present a fair enough prospect to one who would 
climb gradually into competence, and even distinction. 
He looked to literature as a means of eking out a 
salary necessarily small at the beginning ; and, if he 
afterwards came to depend entirely upon this secondary 
means, it was only for a very brief space, and under 
the temptation of circumstances which seemed to render 
it the most prudent step he could take. 

I am the more disposed to defend him from the charge 
of having chosen literature for a profession, as I con- 
ceive that such an imprudence would have been incon- 
sistent with the usual correctness of his judgment. 
Pringle was never the victim of a truant and wander- 
ing disposition. His sufferings afterwards were for the 
sake of principle, and were submitted to from deliberate 
reflection, and not as the consequence of want of fore- 
thought. I have a very good right to express my 
opinion on this subject ; and I can say, that the choice of 
literature as a profession, although in a few cases it may 



XXIV MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

be the result of inevitable circumstances, arises nearly 
always either from disinclination to steady labour, or 
from sheer want of sense. If from the former of these 
two causes, the same idle habits are manifested even in 
literature itself ; if from the latter, the same deficiency 
of judgment may be clearly traced throughout the 
entire history of the individual. A man is not idle 
because he is a literary man, but he is a literary man 
because he is idly inclined. He is not imprudent in 
the common occurrences of life because he is an author ; 
but he is an author, because he is without prudence to 
direct his actions. As for the gentleman-like indepen- 
dence with which the literary profession is invested by 
the imagination of lazy, thoughtless lads, this is a 
dream that authors very soon learn to smile at — if so 
bitter an affection of the muscles can be called a smile. 
An author is, in ninety -nine cases out of a hundred, a 
mere huckster, and haggles with the purchasers of his 
small wares like a shopkeeper. He degrades literature 
by his meanness in selling his very mind for money, 
and endeavours to persuade himself that it is literature 
which degrades him. If there be those who retain 
some respect for themselves and their calling, they are 
the most unhappy of the tribe. Their reputation may 
be widely spread, their name may be associated where- 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. XXV 

ever it is heard with ideas of moral beauty, or intel- 
lectual power; but they are worse remunerated than 
the very scavengers of the press. They stalk through 
society with a lofty brow, and unblanching cheek, 
admired or envied by the unthinking ; and in a few 
years sink and pass away — one dares not inquire 
whither. 

" His employment," continues his friend, the Rev. 
Mr. Story, "unless when it occasionally gratified his 
antiquarian taste, was most repugnant to the natural 
bias of his mind, and altogether alien from those studies 
and mental exercises in which he especially delighted. 
He had, however, an ardent and enthusiastic tempera- 
ment ; and although often bodily exhaustion, after the 
daily labour of transcription, seemed to incapacitate 
him for every literary pursuit and enjoyment, he would, 
after a little interval of repose, with all the freshness of 
early morn, commence his reading or writing in prose 
or verse ; and it was astonishing how the fruit would, 
from time to time, appear, in the various knowledge 
and information he would cast into the circulation of 
every literary party. 

" The character of his daily occupation for several 
years, — his passionate love of nature and rural scenery, 
which he could but seldom gratify, — the dreamy tend- 



XXVI MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

ency of his fancy — the wanderings of his soul amid 
happier combinations of things, — may ° "count for those 
feelings of a sombre description, to which, during this 
period, he was occasionally subject. The entire uncer- 
tainty of his future prospects, — the difficulty of fixing 
on any plan of life, from his unprofessional status, — the 
perils of a merely literary life, — the difficulties under 
which others were labouring, in whom he took a deep 
interest, — all conspired to render more frequent the 
attacks of depression alluded to. Notwithstanding all 
this, his private letters at this period are never without 
tokens of great buoyancy of spirit; and, after melan- 
choly details, some lively stroke of wit or playful 
humour would at once originate an entirely different 
train of emotions." 

In 181 1, Pringle and a friend published a poem — 
I presume a satirical one — called the " Institute," which 
obtained for them more " empty praise " than " solid 
pudding." " There's for you now ! " he writes, after 
retailing some of the encomiums he had heard, " but 
alas ! ' pecunia quserenda primum laus post nummos ;' 
I now long to see the solid pudding, for printers will 
not be paid with praise alone. But surely, my good 
fellow, there is some stuff in both our craniums capa- 
ble of being beaten into something of higher temper 
and polish than the ' Institute ! ' " 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. XXV11 

I am not well qualified to be the historian of what 
is called " religious experience ;" but the details which 
I have gleaned here and there from Pringle's letters are 
not only exceedingly interesting, but must be gratify- 
ing and consolatory in a high degree to that numerous 
class of persons who suspect Christianity to be a dream, 
merely because they will not take the trouble of learn- 
ing to believe. His devotion, when a child and a boy, 
was, if I may be allowed to say so, a prejudice instilled 
into his mind by his parents; but when in riper years 
the intellectual world opened to his eyes, he was not 
satisfied with this inherited faith, but set himself 
boldly and earnestly to the task of inquiring into the 
basis on which it rested. In this he was joined by three 
other young men ; two of them somewhat inclined to 
infidelity, and the other, his friend Story, a firm 
believer. What Pringle's inclinations were, will be 
gathered from the extract of a letter to Mr. Story. 

" But I must tell you our plan of conducting this 
momentous investigation. We three have agreed to 
meet every Sunday evening, if possible — calmly and 
candidly to canvass the subject, and compare the results 
of our studies and meditations. Our reflections on the 
different heads are to be written down, considered, and 
commented upon by each, and then transmitted to 

c2 



XXV111 MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

you. It may readily strike you from this view, that I 
stand upon a very disadvantageous footing in the dis- 
cussion ; the prejudices (shall I call them so?) of our 
two friends being at present fully as much against 
Revelation as mine are in its favour, while they both 
possess deep-thinking, metaphysical heads, the very 
opposite of mine. Be mindful, therefore, my dear 
Story, how much depends upon you; and let no 
feeble, no sophistical arguments weigh against us, nor 
fancy nor affection induce us to waver. Aware as I am 
of the peculiar disadvantages under which I enter the 
lists, I have resolved to repair the defects of my armour 
as speedily and securely as possible, and to guard with 
double vigilance against every open or insidious assault 
of the enemy. But why should I employ such an invi- 
dious metaphor ? While truth continues the only 
object of our research, error is equally the foe of all, 
and it is the duty of each of us to try to detect the 
fallacy of his own arguments, as well as of those of his 
opponents." — Oct. 28, 1811. 

At this period he seems to have clung to religious 
hope, with almost a convulsive grasp. Subject to dys- 
pepsia, his constitutional enemy — harassed by incessant 
labour, which swallowed up his time— 

" His high views abandoned, his good deeds undone, 
Aweary of all that was under the sun," 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. XXIX 

his soul either indulged fondly, in the silent watches of 
the night, in anticipation of its future destiny, or his 
thoughts turned back for consolation to the vanished 
years of his boyhood — the earthly heaven of the disap- 
pointed and unhappy. A love of external nature was in 
him not a taste, but a passion ; and hence in such mo- 
ments of depression — when sometimes even the Eternal 
Gates seemed shut against him— the remembered voice 
of his native stream came back with a soothing sound 
upon his ear, and the hills, and dells, and woods, and 
waters of his beautiful and romantic country, ranging 
themselves round his pillow, formed a circle into which 
the Tempter durst not enter. 

By this time his serious studies appear to have been 
nearly over, an earlier date being affixed to the tickets 
of lectures which he attended — on chemistry, logic, and 
metaphysics, Scottish law, anatomy and surgery, &c. ; 
but still, amidst all his official labours, he found time 
enough to keep a watchful eye upon the progress of 
English literature. His account, given to a friend, of 
the debut of a " Mr. Wilson, a new recruit of the Lake 
bards, " an individual destined one day to have not a 
little effect in turning the stream of his own history — is 
curious from its unconsciousness. 

" I do not know," says he, " how to give you any 



XXX MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

idea of his poetry. It seems to be a kind of tissue of 
beautiful thoughts, and fine images, drawn out to great 
length — a sort of fairy picturing, such as you have some- 
times imagined in a dream of midsummer night, or 
viewed in the clouds of evening — a fantastic net-work 
formed of the threads of gossamer, ' beams of moonlight,' 
and 'atoms of the rainbow fluttering round' — worked 
up withal, however, with so much of fine fancy and fine 
feeling, as could not fail to make him a general favourite, 
if he had somewhat more of forcible thinking, and con- 
densed expression." This criticism was good at the 
time ; but the victims who have writhed under the later 
pen of Mr. Wilson, will not accuse him of wanting 
either will or power. 

In the course of the highly interesting correspondence 
from which these extracts are taken, I can trace dis- 
tinctly the development of his mind, and the ripening 
of those energies for which he was destined to have so 
much occasion in after life. Both friends, it appears, 
were subject to the fits of morbid melancholy familiar 
to most young men of genius ; and, in the earlier part 
of the series of letters, Pringle's complaints, although 
too well founded in that species of physical disease which 
re-acts so strangely and alarmingly on the mind, may be 
read without interest, Now, however, he acts as the 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. XXXI 

monitor of his comrade ; bringing forward, in his behalf, 
the lessons drawn from his own dark experience, de- 
scribing, with a master hand, the phenomena of the 
disease, and pointing out the remedy. The picture he 
gives of this harassing malady, which taboos the patient 
from all those social feelings which were before the 
atmosphere of his soul, and makes him, amidst the 
universal harmonies of nature, " a jarring and a disso- 
nant thing," is admirable, both in its fancy and fidelity, 
but too long for insertion here. Whatever progress he 
may have made in his intellectual being, his every-day 
life now passed on, for a considerable space, absorbed in 
the monotonous duties of the Register Office. 

In 1816, I find him a contributor to " Albyn's 
Anthology," and the author of a piece in the " Poetic 
Mirror," which was much praised by Scott, and which 
was the origin of his acquaintance with that great and 
good man. The nucleus of the article was a short de- 
scriptive poem, which he had addressed six years before 
to his friend Story ; and it was now to appear as an 
imitation of the strains of the Wizard of the North : — 
the said wizard, however, (in whose hands it was placed 
for revision) declaring, that he wished the original notes 
had always been as fine as their echo. The poem, in 
this form, was published as "An Epistle to R. S.," 



XXX11 MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

which the Quarterly Review interpreted as an epistle to 
Robert Southey. 

During this and the preceding year, Pringle had been 
busy with a project which was to bring before the public 
a rival to the superannuated "Scot's Magazine;" and 
he had already engaged as contributors to the new pe- 
riodical some of the most distinguished literati of Edin- 
burgh. His object, as declared in his confidential letters, 
was simply to endeavour to eke out a scanty salary with 
the profits arising from the speculation ; and he had no 
idea at this time of ever depending entirely upon litera- 
ture for subsistence. When the scheme, however, became 
more matured ; when a publisher was found ; and when 
the fate of the work appeared to be placed beyond doubt 
by the talents and respectability of the contributors, a 
change took place in his views. His salary at the 
Register Office being small, and his situation of a 
nature which admitted of its being resumed at pleasure, 
he did not hesitate to relinquish the certain advantages 
he possessed, at least for a space of time long enough 
to give his new plan a trial ; and, when fairly released 
from the trammels of business, he plunged into the 
severer labours of literature with his customary en- 
thusiasm. 

Early in the following year, 1817, the M Edinburgh 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. XXXlll 

Monthly Magazine " appeared, in which Pringle's most 
important contribution was an article on the Gipsies, 
the materials for which were chiefly furnished by Scott. 
This kindness on the part of the Minstrel (then the 
Great Unknown) was the more remarkable, as he had 
intended, before hearing of Pringle's undertaking, to 
make use of the papers for an article of his own in the 
Quarterly Review. It may be conceived that our friend 
was gratified in no common degree ; particularly, as he 
remarks, " since Scott's kindness and attention through- 
out were spontaneously conferred, without any solicita- 
tion on my part." In the same number were papers by 
Mr. Lockhart, " a young advocate" Mr. Wilson, Mr. 
Neil, Mr. Cleghorn, the Rev. T. Wright, Dr. Brewster, 
James Hogg, and others. 

About the same time, he undertook the editorship 
of the "Edinburgh Star" newspaper, for which, be- 
sides having the responsibility of providing the whole ma- 
terials, and superintending the necessary arrangements, 
he wrote the leading article twice a week. This drudg- 
ery, together with that of the magazine, reduced him 
to what he calls " a lamentable state of slavery," — which 
was nothing lightened by a second magazine being 
soon upon his hands. The former periodical, falling 
into the hands of new proprietors, became " Black- 



XXXIV MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

wood's Magazine ;" the latter was " Constable's," of 
which he undertook the joint editorship. 

It is not my purpose to go into the details of his dis- 
pute with Blackwood, which speedily led to a separa- 
tion, and which drew upon him the enmity, or at least 
the abuse, of some of his former coadjutors. To revive 
such passages now would do no good, more especially 
since I cannot discover in his correspondence, even with 
his most confidential friends, the slightest token of 
animosity. The fact, I believe, is, that Pringle, who 
looked upon literature as something too high and holy 
to be mingled with the grossness of party politics, in- 
cautiously linked himself, at first, with men whose lite- 
rary talents, although in some instances higher than 
his own, were subservient to their party passions. A 
connexion like this could not possibly be permanent ; 
and the early separation which took place must have 
been advantageous to both parties. 

" I am in a very strange and curious state," he 
writes, at this epoch, " but I cannot explain it except 
in generalities. I am supposed to be prosperous and 
getting forward in the world, and yet I am one of the 
poorest men I know. I have no regularity of hours, 
and am often out all night, and yet I am perfectly 
sober, and given to no dissipation. I am well known 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. XXXV 

to half the people in Edinburgh, and might spend all 
my time in pleasant company if I chose, and yet have 
not a friend in it — at least a male friend. I am the 
editor of two magazines which are direct rivals. I 
am supposed to be a bachelor, and to live in an attic 
four stories high, with a cat on my mantel-piece, and 
yet I have a house with a street door, and though not 
a wife in it, one ready to take there as soon as I am 
able." 

The explanation of this enigma is, that Pringle had 
prepared for his marriage some months before, and 
on the 19th of July, when his affairs were, to all 
appearance, in a flourishing state, was married to 
Margaret, daughter of Mr. William Brown, an East 
Lothian farmer of great respectability. Then came 
the magazine feud, which turned his prospects topsy- 
turvy, and rendered it imprudent, had it been possible, 
to commence publicly his married life ; and then came 
the calls for an additional income at the very moment 
when a diminution took place. Far from being 
startled, however, by the new difficulties of his situation, 
Pringle turned a dauntless look from his own fire-side 
upon the lowering clouds of the future, and thanked 
his God for the gift of a faithful friend, and devoted 
wife. 



XXXVI MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

" I have now a prospect," writes he, " of more sedate 
and substantial happiness than I have ever previously 
enjoyed, if Providence grant us 'health, competence, 
and peace.' As to the first, I am happy to say, that I 
am in better health at present than I have enjoyed for 
many years ; the second depends upon the success of 
our magazine, which at present is going on very pros- 
perously ; the third I can confidently count upon at my 
own fireside, whatever may occur elsewhere. As to 
the other matters, I am perfectly aware that many 
people will say that I have taken a very inconsiderate 
and imprudent step ; but even you, who know me 
too well to think I should be much influenced by 
mercenary motives, are too slightly and superficially 
acquainted with Margaret, to estimate the qualities 
which compensate to me a hundred-fold the want of 
fortune." 

Soon after this he published the " Autumnal Excur- 
sion, and other Poems," and still came the empty praise, 
with as little as ever of the solid pudding. He then 
relinquished the unprofitable editorship of the Star 
newspaper; and then — after this period of glorious 
hopes, and lofty yearnings, of gallant struggles— our 
history finds him once more, in January, 1819, on his 
accustomed seat in the Register Office. 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. XXXV11 

No longer a youth of nineteen, as when he com- 
menced his laborious duties under the Record Commis- 
sioners, but a man of the mature age of thirty ; no 
longer a solitary individual, hanging loose upon society, 
and possessing the elastic power of adapting his ex- 
penses to his income, but the head of a family, holding 
a fixed rank in the circles of the town — he now found 
it impossible to live upon earnings so small, however 
certain. 

" It is sufficient to say," writes he to a friend, " that 
my present occupation is inadequate to the support of 
my family in the most moderate way I can devise ; I 
see little or no prospect of materially improving my 
circumstances in this country ; and I have already 
incumbrances on my shoulders which threaten every 
day to become heavier, and at last to overwhelm me in 
hopeless debt. Now this is a state of life the most 
intolerable that can well be imagined, and which one 
must experience fully to estimate. It paralyses the 
very blood and heart of man ; and I cannot and will 
not endure it, while a prospect remains of extricating 
myself by any exertion, or sacrifice, that can be made 
with honour and a good conscience." 

The other members of his father's house were at this 
moment suffering, in like manner, the vicissitudes of 



XXXViii MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

life ; and it is no wonder that the thoughts of a man 
like Pringle, while meditating an escape for himself 
from so harassing a situation, should have been busy, 
at the same time, with the fate of those who were 
so dear to him. A plan at length suggested itself, 
which, as regarded himself, his fancy painted couleur 
de rose, and which was irresistibly tempting, from the 
means it offered of re-uniting in one society the scat- 
tered members of the family. This was emigration. 
Southern Africa was fixed upon as their new country ; 
application made, through Scott, to Lord Melville for 
a grant of land for his father and brother ; and, with a 
promptitude which characterised all his operations, the 
affair was brought to a conclusion, and the party pre- 
pared to cross the ocean in search of that competence 
and independence which adverse circumstances had 
denied to them at home. 

" It may be proper here to notice, that I had two 
distinct objects in view in emigrating to the Cape. One 
of these was to collect again into one social circle, and 
establish in rural independence, my father's family, 
which untoward circumstances had broken up and 
begun to scatter over the world. To accomplish this, 
emigration to a new colony was indispensable. My 
father had been a respectable Roxburghshire farmer ; 






MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRJNGLE. XXXIX 

and all his sons (five in number) had been bred to the 
same profession except myself. The change of times, 
however, and the loss of capital, had completely over- 
clouded their prospects in our native country ; and, 
therefore, when the Government scheme of colonizing 
the unoccupied territory at the Cape was promulgated, 
I called their attention to that colony, and offered to 
accompany them, should they determine to proceed 
thither as settlers. After maturely weighing the 
advantages of the Cape, as compared with other 
British colonies, they made their election, and em- 
powered me to apply on their behalf to the Colonial 
Department # . As it was required by the Government 
plan that every party should comprise at least ten adult 
males, one family related to my wife, and two or three 
other respectable individuals, were associated with us. 
And thus our little band of twenty-four souls was made 
up; consisting of twelve men including three farm 
servants, six women and six children. 

" My personal views were different from those of my 
relatives. I had received a collegiate education ; and 
had been employed for about a dozen years in the ser-, 

* " One of my brothers had previously emigrated to the United 
States and settled there. Another brother did not get his affairs 
arranged in time to accompany the party, but followed us out in 1822." 



Xl MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

vice of his Majesty's Commissioners on the Ancient 
Records of the Kingdom, in the office of my esteemed 
friend Mr. Thomson, Deputy Clerk- Register of Scot- 
land. I had also been recently engaged to a certain 
extent in literary concerns; having been one of the 
original projectors and editors of Blackwood's Edinburgh 
Magazine (then a liberal, though not a party journal) ; 
and afterwards of Constable's Magazine. My connexion 
with these journals, however, had been rather preju- 
dicial than otherwise to my views in life, and had given 
me, moreover, a decided aversion to literature, or at 
least to periodical literature, as a profession. Under 
these circumstances, I determined to embark my own 
fortunes with those of my relatives in the Government 
scheme of South African colonization. But as neither 
my pecuniary circumstances nor my previous habits 
rendered it advisable for me to locate myself as an agri- 
cultural settler, I trusted to obtain, through the re- 
commendation of powerful friends, some appoint- 
ment suitable to my qualifications in the civil service 
of the colony, and probably in the newly settled 
district." 

Here ends the first epoch of his history. Invested 
with the direction of the little band of emigrants, he 
proceeded to London to make the necessary arrange- 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. xli 

merits; and in February, 1820, they set sail for the 
Cape of Good Hope. A song written by him, in his 
pilgrim-character, is now admitted into the selections of 
popular poetry, and more especially into those designed 
for youth : — 

" Our native land — our native vale — 
A long — a last adieu ! 
Farewell to bonny Teviotdale, 
And Cheviot's mountains blue !" 



xlii 



CHAPTER II. 

State of the Cape at the Period of his Arrival — Process of Coloni- 
zation — Massacres of the English — Lord Charles Somerset — Ar- 
rival — Description of the Coast — Bethelsdorp — Journey to the 
Caffre Frontiers — His Employments in the Location — Teaches 
and protects the Coloured Men — State of the Settlement in July, 
1822 — Journey to Cape Town — Picture of an English Colonial 
Dungeon, with its Inmates — Arrival and Prospects — He takes 
charge of the Public Library — Attempt to establish a Literary 
Journal — Exposure of the Misrepresentations of the Quarterly 
Review — Arrival of the Commissioners of Inquiry — Newspaper 
and Magazine commenced — And crushed by the Governor — 
Singular Scene between a Great and a Little Man — Literary 
Society founded and crushed — His Academy destroyed and 
himself ruined — His Services to the Colony — Return to England. 

The Cape of Good Hope, at this period, was in a 
state which most colonies have had to pass through at 
one time or other. All civilised nations have possessed 
themselves of the country of uncivilised nations, in 
pretty nearly the same manner. Wherever Christian 
foot has been planted on barbarous ground, there have 
been blood, and burning, and terror, and despair. To 
extend the moral, as well as physical dominion of the 



■ 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. xliii 

parent country, was never dreamed of. To introduce 
her language and her arts into new regions ; to bring 
the wanderers of the desert into her towns and tem- 
ples ; to barter for territory the inestimable blessings of 
education ; to turn the howling wilderness into a garden, 
and lure its savage inhabitants into the social pale, 
these were projects too mighty, and too noble, to enter 
into the thick skull, and turbid brain, of a conqueror. 
To win the land from its naked and almost unarmed 
masters by the treachery of a coward, or the violence 
of a ruffian, and to inspire these far Gentile nations 
with a hatred and horror of the very name of Christ — 
such has been the usual process of colonization. Its 
results have been in many cases the extirpation of 
the natives, either by the sword or the distilled poisons 
of civilised man; and the substitution in their stead 
of a European race almost as ignorant and barbarous, 
loaded with the execrations of the just, and withering 
under the curse of the Almighty. 

But, in such colonies as the Cape, where, from the 
vast extent of the country, and the number and force 
of the inhabitants, extirpation cannot take place, these 
consequences go a little further, or at least continue a 
little longer. A territorial line is drawn round the con- 
quests of the white man, and the coloured men are 

d2 



Xliv MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

forced, or swindled, into an acknowledgment of its 
authority. But this conventional line has the miracu- 
lous property of extending itself gradually as the 
power and number of the settlers increase ; and hence 
many " untoward events" arise. The natives, finding 
themselves elbowed further and further into the desert 
by this enchanted boundary, turn round in fury ; and 
the colonists, surprised and indignant, defend them- 
selves from their unjustifiable attacks. From land, 
they come to quarrel about other kinds of property. 
They steal one another's cattle, and one another's wives 
and children. The coloured men, being turned out of 
their haunts, and chased away to the wilderness like wild 
beasts, acquire the habits of wild beasts. They spring 
upon the whites when they are able, or come down at 
night in wolfish packs upon their huts or villages ; and 
the whites, on their part, hunt their coloured brethren 
with dogs and guns, and shoot them down like game. 
No further back, for instance, than November, 1829, an 
expedition returning unsuccessful in their search after 
a horde of Bushmen, near the Sack river, at the Cape, 
wreaked their ire upon a friendly tribe, of whom they 
shot seven individuals ; and soon after, observing a 
Bush worn an lying asleep beside the path, their magna- 
nimous captain fired at and killed her. "And the 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. xlv 

party rode on, without considering the matter worthy 
even of a passing remark."* 

In this state of affairs, it may be conceived that the 
whites cast an anxious eye sometimes far beyond the 
ideal boundary. At the Cape, two dispossessed tribes 
of north-eastern Caffres, vanquished in their own savage 
wars, appeared for a moment within thirty or forty 
miles of the English frontier ; but, turning away, esta- 
blished themselves on the solitary banks of the Umtata 
river, two hundred and fifty miles distant, where they 
built their huts and located their families. To this se- 
cluded spot, surrounded by deserts, they — the wandering 
Caffres, who had probably never seen a European face — 
were followed by British Troops, and extirpated; 
butchered in cold blood, without resistance it is said, and 
to the number of twenty thousand souls !t But this, 
the reader will say, is a story of the olden time ; of that 
iron age in which ignorance and barbarity prevailed to 
such an extent, that scarcely even a chronicle was pro- 
duced to record the acted horrors of the period. He is 
mistaken. The white infant who was born on that day 

* Pringle's Narrative of a Residence in South Africa ; new 
edition, Moxon, 1835, p. 243. 

f Pringle's Narrative, p. 232 ; Bannister's Humane Policy, 
p. 150 ; Kay's Researches, p. 328. 



Xlvi MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

has scarcely yet learned to read his Bible, and say his 
prayers at his mother's knee before going to bed. The 
massacre took place in the year of our Lord Jesus 
Christ one thousand eight hundred and twenty-eight. 

All this will be read by some persons with surprise, 
perhaps incredulity. " This is the nineteenth century ," 
they will say ; " we are a civilised people ; and at the 
period alluded to, the Cape was governed by an English 
gentleman who, no doubt, resolved to practise in the 
colony the principles of English government. Do you 
mean to affirm that the authorities permitted, or sanc- 
tioned — or would not have punished, with hundreds of 
capital executions — an atrocity at once so horrible and 
so impolitic?" The answer is, that the English gen- 
tleman selected to fill an office of such awful responsi- 
bility, happens usually — although of course there are 
exceptions — to be just the most incompetent person 
who could be discovered by a diligent search among the 
whole mass of the nation. The idea of a man being 
chosen, with reference to the united qualities he 
may possess of head and heart, to govern a minor 
colony, would send a universal cachinnation through any 
civilised cabinet in Europe. The choice falls upon 
somebody, or the son of somebody, who is a relation, or 
dependant, or supporter, of the minister for the time 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE, xlvii 

being ; and as for his principles, if he have any at all, 
they are his own affair. 

It would be absurd to say that all such men, or a 
majority of such men, have less talent and virtue than 
the average of English gentlemen ; but it would be 
equally absurd to say they have more. On arriving at 
their government, they find themselves in a situation, 
in which statesman-like qualities of the very highest 
order are absolutely necessary ; and having no such 
qualities, they try to get on as easily as they can 
without them. They find themselves in the hands of 
experienced officials, who should know better than 
they, and they remain there. Their business is to 
secure the colony from the aggressions of the natives, 
and to extend the boundary line as far as possible ; 
and how can this be done more readily than by cutting 
the throats of the aggressors, and confiscating their 
lands and property ? 

At the time of Pringle's arrival at the Cape, the 
administration was in the hands of Lord Charles 
Somerset, a minor governor in every sense of the word. 
Even before this period some progress had been made 
by the mind of the colony, and some amelioration 
had taken place in the condition of the natives. What 
was wanted was free discussion, the public collision of 



Xlviii MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

thought, the interchange of opinion ; and this was 
precisely what Lord Charles was determined not to 
grant. He held the opinions which formerly distin- 
guished an extreme political party ; or rather he carried 
their opinions to a pitch of extravagance, which, in 
a man not invested with power to carry them into 
practice, would have been simply ridiculous. To 
question the policy of a government, to doubt the 
infallibility of a governor, were with him nothing less 
than treason. Literature was all very well in so far 
as it supported the existing state of things; but if it 
presumed to inquire into that state, or to suggest any 
amendment, it was an engine of the devil, which 
should be crushed under foot. Books, indeed, he did 
not object to, for he did not read them ; men might 
peruse the lessons of history, if they liked ; but to 
apply these lessons was the sin of sins, which could 
not be forgiven. The Government Gazette, there- 
fore, was — the government gazette ; but of all other 
sorts of periodicals, addressing themselves to men's 
business and bosoms, he entertained the deepest hor- 
ror. This, however, is rather anticipating the course 
of our memoir; but I wish to give the reader some 
idea of the state of the colony chosen for his abiding- 
place by the zealous, high-minded, pure-hearted, devout 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. xlix 

lover of God, and of the human kind, whose history 
we are tracing. 

He carried with him strong recommendations to the 
governor, obtained through the influence of Sir Walter 
Scott, and also a few letters of introduction ; but to 
him, accustomed as he had been to the offices of the 
warmest and most zealous friendship, it was literally 
an exodus into the desert. " Would to God," writes 
one of those home friends to him on his departure, 
" that I could have been of service to you in any way ! 
Is there anything I can do for you when you are 
gone ? Is there any friend to whom I might be a 
friend? — any one to whom / could, in your behalf, 
show affection, give counsel, or cover with my arm ? 
Leave me, if you can, some legacy of this sort." So 
writes Mr. Fairbairn, whose mysterious conduct I have 
very unwillingly alluded to in one of the early pages of 
this memoir. 

On arriving in Simon's Bay, on the 30th April, 
1820, he found that the governor had already sailed 
for England ; and his letters to him, being marked 
"private," could not be opened by his secretary. On 
the 18th of May they set sail for Algoa Bay, where 
the settlers were to disembark, and where they arrived 
on the 15th. In this little voyage they had an oppor- 



1 MEMOIRS OF THOMAS FRINGLE. 

tunity of surveying the coast scenery, which he thus 
describes : — 

" The land rises abruptly from the shore in massive 
mountain ridges, clothed with forests of large timber, 
and swelling in the back ground into lofty serrated 
peaks of naked rock. As we passed headland after 
headland, the sylvan recesses of the bays and mountains 
opened successively to our gaze, like a magnificent pano- 
rama, continually unfolding new features, or exhibiting 
new combinations of scenery, in which the soft and 
the stupendous, the mountainous and the picturesque, 
were strongly blended. The aspect of the whole was 
impressive, but sombre ; beautiful, but somewhat 
savage. There was the grandeur and the grace of 
nature, majestic and untamed ; and there was also that 
air of lonesomeness and dreary wilclness, which a country 
unmarked by the traces of human industry, or of 
human residence, seldom fails to exhibit to the mind 
of civilised man." The effect of this scene upon the 
English passengers was to strike them with awe, ap- 
proaching to consternation ; while the Scots, moved 
with the associations which connect a mountain land 
with the home feelings of the mountaineer, were either 
excited to extravagant spirits, or silently shed tears. 

This picture was soon displaced to make room for 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. li 

another — that of Algoa Bay, crowded with shipping, 
and its shores alive with groups of emigrants. Some 
of the latter consisted of ladies, elegantly dressed, re- 
clining in marquees, or wandering listlessly through the 
natural shrubberies, with books in their hands. Fit 
denizens of the desert ! — whose business henceforward 
was to struggle with the elements, and wrest a main- 
tenance from the unaccustomed soil ! 

Some time elapsed before Pringle's party could be 
permitted to land ; and he took the opportunity of 
visiting Bethelsdorp, a Hottentot village, nine miles 
from the coast. He was received kindly by the resi- 
dent missionary ; and except the dress and appearance 
of the inhabitants, there was much in the rural aspect 
of the place to remind him of a Scottish glen. While 
tea was preparing, however, a CafFre woman, with one 
child at her knee, and another at her back, was 
brought into the house in custody, for the offence of 
having crossed without permission the boundary 
line. She was a handsome and graceful female, and 
pleaded her cause, in her own musical language, with 
passionate eloquence, her eyes now kindling with indig- 
nation, and now filling with woman's tears. Her elo- 
quence, however, could do nothing to alter her sentence, 
which doomed her to slavery among the white ruffians 



Hi MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

who had torn from her tribe the heritage she had been 
convicted of revisiting. The party then adjourned to 
the chapel, to join together in the rites of Benevolence, 
— of the religion of the love of God and man. 

"As I sat," says Pringle, " and listened to the 
soft and touching melody of the female voices, or gazed 
on the earnest, upturned, swarthy countenances of 
the aged men, who had probably spent their early 
days in the wild freedom of nomadic life, and worn 
out their middle life in the service of the colonists; 
it was pleasing to think that here, and in a few other 
institutions such as this, the Christian humanity of 
Europe had done something to alleviate European 
oppression, by opening asylums, where at least a few 
of the race, were enabled to escape from personal 
thraldom, and to emerge from heathen darkness into 
the glorious light and liberty of the gospel." 

After considerable delay, extending to the 13th of 
June, the party left Algoa Bay for their destination 
in the interior. Their vehicles were seven Dutch- 
African waggons, furnished by a government order, 
and in general driven by their owners, with a Hot- 
tentot boy running before, to conduct the leaders of 
the team of ten or twelve oxen. For eight days they 
continued to wander through the desert, deriving more 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE, liil 

amusement than inconvenience from the strange and 
picturesque circumstances of the journey, and in 
particular of their night encampments — surrounded by 
groups of boors, Hottentots, and Bushmen, and guarded 
by large fires against the wild beasts, whose cries they 
heard in the distance. 

On the 21st of June they arrived at Roodewal, a 
military post on the Great Fish River, where they 
spent two agreeable days in the midst of the kindest 
hospitality, offered to them by the officers of the 
garrison and their families. Soon after resuming their 
journey they were joined by an escort of armed boors ; 
for they had now reached the eastward verge of the 
old boundary line, from which, to the new— a distance 
of seventy miles — the country was " a howling wilder- 
ness," haunted only by wild beasts and banditti. 
From this territory the natives had been driven only 
the preceding year, and hunted beyond the Chumi 
and Keisi rivers. The route of the emigrants lay 
through the valley of the Baavians river, or River of 
Baboons, one of the smaller tributaries of the Great 
Fish River ; and in the upper part of this valley they 
were to find their location, consisting of lands forfeited 
by certain Dutch boors, who had risen in insurrection 
against the English government. 



Hv MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

" The scenery through which we passed was in 
many places of the most picturesque and singular de- 
scription. Sometimes the valley widened out, leaving 
space along the river side for fertile meadows, or 
haughs, (as such spots are called in the south of Scot- 
land,) prettily sprinkled over with mimosa trees and 
evergreen shrubs, and then clothed with luxuriant 
pasturage up to the bellies of our oxen. Frequently 
the mountains, again converging, left only a narrow 
defile, just broad enough for the stream to find a 
passage ; while precipices of naked rock rose abruptly, 
like the walls of a rampart, to the height of many 
hundred feet, and in some places appeared absolutely 
to overhang the savage-looking pass or poor I, through 
which we and our waggons struggled below ; our only 
path being occasionally the rocky bed of the shallow 
river itself, encumbered with huge blocks of stone 
which had fallen from the cliffs, or worn smooth as 
a marble pavement by the sweep of the torrent floods. 
At this period the river of Baboons was a mere rill, 
gurgling gently along its rugged course, or gathered 
here and there into natural tanks, called in the lan- 
guage of the country %eekoe-gats (hippopotamus pools) ; 
but the remains of water-wrack, heaved high on the 
cliffs, or hanging upon the tall willow trees, which in 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. lv 

many places fringed the banks, afforded striking proof 
that at certain seasons this diminutive rill becomes a 
mighty and resistless flood. The steep hills on either 
side often assumed very remarkable shapes — embattled, 
as it were, with natural ramparts of freestone or trap 
rock — and seemingly garrisoned with troops of the large 
baboons from which the river had received its former 
Dutch appellation. The lower declivities were covered 
with good pasturage, and sprinkled over with evergreens 
and acacias ; while the cliffs that overhung the river 
had their wrinkled fronts embellished with various spe- 
cies of succulent plants and flowering aloes. In other 
spots the freestone and basaltic rocks, partially worn 
away with the waste of years, had assumed shapes the 
most singular and grotesque ; so that with a little 
aid from fancy, one might imagine them the ruins of 
Hindoo or Egyptian temples, with their half-decayed 
obelisks, columns, and statues of monster deities. 

" It were tedious to relate the difficulties, perils, and 
adventures, which we encountered in our toilsome march 
of jive days up this African glen : — to tell of our pio- 
neering labours with the hatchet, the pick-axe, the 
crowbar, and the sledge-hammer, — and the lashing of 
the poor oxen, to force them on (sometimes twenty or 
thirty in one team) through such a track .as no English 



Ivi MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

reader can form any adequate conception of. In the 
upper part of the valley we were occupied two entire 
days in thus hewing our way through a rugged defile, 
now called Eildon-Cleugh, scarcely three miles in ex- 
tent. At length, after extraordinary exertions and 
hair-breadth escapes — the breaking down of two 
waggons, and the partial damage of others— we got 
through the last poort of the glen, and found ourselves 
on the summit of an elevated ridge, commanding a 
view of the extremity of the valley. 6 And now, myn- 
heer,' said the Dutch-African field-cornet who com- 
manded our escort, ' daar leg nwe veld' — * there lies 
your country.' " 

This wild and secluded spot was called by the 
emigrants Glen-lynden ; which is now the official name 
of the river, the whole of the valley, and the field- 
cornetcy, conferred, in compliment to Pringle, by Major- 
General Bourke when Lieutenant-Governor. Here 
they built their huts, or wigwams, each furnished by 
the industry or ingenuity of the occupant ; and clear- 
ing the lands for cultivation, trenching them for irri- 
gation, and stocking the meadows with sheep and 
breeding cattle, bought in a neighbouring district, here 
they sat down to follow out their fortune, with no other 
resources than their own courage and perseverance. 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. Ivil 

Pringle, as I have already observed, was a good 
artisan in more than one respect, and he was also a 
good gardener. He was, besides, the physician and 
surgeon of the party, there being no other within a 
hundred miles, and at the same time the civil and 
military chief of the location, and the religious in- 
structor and officiating minister. The sanctity of the 
sabbath was preserved from the very outset. They 
arrived at their location on the 29th June, and on the 
2nd July, being the first Sunday, when as yet they 
could not be supposed to have completed the ar- 
rangements to secure them even from the weather, 
they abstained from all secular employment ; perform- 
ing divine service in the forenoon and afternoon, and 
agreeing " to maintain in this manner the public 
worship of God in their infant settlement, until it 
should please Him, in his good providence, to privi- 
lege it with the ecclesiastical dispensation of religious 
ordinances." Since his arrival in the colony, Pringle 
had made himself sufficiently well acquainted with 
Dutch to be able to read the Bible, and converse on 
familiar topics in the language. His ministrations 
were thus of more general utility ; for by-and-bye, 
when a Hottentot guard was added to the settlement, 
he was able to perform an additional service in a 

e 



lviii MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRTNGLE. 

language that they understood. His Dutch-African 
neighbours — neighbours of thirty or forty miles — 
were by this means prevented from choosing Sunday 
for their visiting day; for although it might have 
been endurable to be obliged to exhibit their small 
acquaintance with the New Testament, it was not 
to be borne that they should be invited to sit down 
to worship God among a Hottentot audience. 

It is not my purpose to chronicle the every-day 
incidents of an emigrant's life. It is sufficient to say 
that Pringle had frequent opportunities of visiting the 
surrounding country, and making himself acquainted 
with its geography and productions, and the social and 
political condition of the inhabitants. In June, 1821, 
he obtained from Sir Rufane Donkin, the acting 
governor, an extension of the location, which put his 
party in possession of twenty thousand acres of land, 
instead of the eleven hundred, to which the original 
scheme of settlement would have entitled them. 

Having alluded to his reception of the Hottentots 
into religious communion, it is almost needless to say 
that in every other respect as well as this, his treat- 
ment of the individuals around him of that oppressed 
people, was consonant to the principles not only of 
sound policy but 6f the religion of benevolence which 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. lix 

he professed. The consequence was, that the coloured 
castes eagerly sought a home at Glen-Lynden when 
circumstances permitted their removal. Some of these 
people were received as herdsmen and farm servants, 
and some who possessed cattle as tenants ; but so 
strong were the transmitted prejudices on this subject 
that Captain Harding, the humane magistrate of the 
district, doubted whether it was lawful to receive even 
Mulattoes in any case except under contract of servi- 
tude. Captain Stockenstrom, however, the chief 
magistrate, decided in favour of humanity and common 
sense; and in a district where only four years before 
an act of common justice to a Hottentot had caused 
a bloody insurrection, Pringle had the glory of 
extending to them the hand of protection and fellow- 
ship. These new colonists of Glen-Lynden, he 
describes as being an acute, active, and enterprising 
race, with no faults of character but those which could 
be easily removed by civilisation ; and, in addition to 
their services on the land, each possessing at least a 
musket and a horse, they augmented the armed force of 
the location at his disposal to a body of upwards of 
thirty men. 

"The state/' says he, "of 'our little settlement at 
the close of its second year in July 1 822, was on the 

e 2 



lx MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

whole prosperous. The first difficulties had been sur- 
mounted ; the severest privations were past. A crop, 
though a somewhat scanty one, of wheat and barley, 
had been reaped. The gardens were well stocked with 
vegetables. The flocks and herds were considerable in 
number, and gradually increasing. The necessaries of 
life were secured ; comforts and conveniences were 
slowly accumulating. The several families had all ob- 
tained Hottentot servants ; and, being now familiarised 
to the country and its various inhabitants, had begun 
to feel quite at home on their respective farms." The 
road down the glen had been rendered passable for wag- 
gons; and when the Hottentot guard was withdrawn 
by government, reinforced as they were by their coloured 
tenantry, they were able to stand their own ground in 
any probable emergency. 

He had now performed his task so far as the Glen- 
Lynden emigrants were concerned, for it had never 
been his intention to settle among them as a farmer — 
to which want of capital alone would have opposed 
an insuperable impediment. He had taken possession 
of the farm of Eildon for his eldest brother, still in 
Scotland ; and when that brother arrived at the Cape 
in July 1822, he gave it up into his hands, and pre- 
pared to follow out his own fortune, in a way better 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. lxi 

adapted to his tastes and habits, as well as to the scanti- 
ness of his pecuniary resources. 

On Lord Charles Somerset's return to the colony, 
towards the close of 1821, the interest which had been 
used at Downing Street by Scott, Sir John Macpherson, 
and others, was apparent in the offer made to him of 
the librarianship of the government library at Cape 
Town. This, indeed, was but a very small appoint- 
ment, the salary being not more than £75 a year ; but 
in a rising colony, a working literary man has every 
chance of good employment, and the librarianship he 
thought would answer very well, at least as the nucleus 
of his income. He had seen enough of the country to 
know that there were prejudice to dispel, and igno- 
rance to enlighten, even in the highest quarters ; and 
he knew that the experiment he had made in his own 
location of treating the aborigines like fellow- men, had 
greatly contributed to the security and well-being of the 
community. What were the precise speculations, however, 
with which he set out on his new course of adventure I 
do not know; but, judging by the sequel, he must at least 
have had some vague hope of being able to employ his 
literary talents in the cause of benevolence and civilisation. 

With a view of adding to his knowledge of the 
country and the people, which already was very con si- 



lxii MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

derable, he determined to travel to Cape Town by land, 
and accordingly set out, with his wife and her sister, in 
a waggon, the only mode of conveyance. A minute 
account of this journey is given in his " Narrative" 
already quoted, one of the most interesting books of 
the kind in our language ; but by way of affording a 
farther view in this place of the treatment of the native 
races by the whites, the following description of a 
country jail is extracted. 

" This tronk consisted of a single apartment, of 
about twenty feet long by twelve or fourteen broad ; 
and for the purposes of light and ventilation had only 
one small grated opening, in the shape of a loop-hole, 
at a considerable height in the wall. Into this apart- 
ment were crowded about thirty human beings, of both 
sexes, of all ages, and of almost every hue, except 
white. The whites, or Christen menschen, as they 
call themselves, are seldom imprisoned, except for some 
very flagrant outrage— and then in some place apart 
from the coloured prisoners ; lest the * Christian ' thief 
or murderer should be dishonoured by being forced to 
associate with his brother men of swarthy hue, even 
though many of the latter, as in the present case, 
should be guiltless of any crime. 

" The condition of this jail was dreadful. On the 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. lxiii 

door being opened, the clergyman requested me to wait 
a few minutes until a freer ventilation had somewhat 
purified the noisome atmosphere within, for the effluvia, 
on the first opening of the door, were too horrible to 
be encountered. This I can well believe ; for when, 
after this precaution, we did enter, the odour was still 
more than I could well endure ; and it was only by 
coming frequently to the open door to inhale a reno- 
vating draught of wholesome air, that I could accom- 
plish such an examination of this dismal den as the 
aspect and condition of its inmates urgently claimed 
from humanity." The denizens of this horrible 
dungeon were runaway slaves — Hottentots who had 
come to the drostdy to complain of their mas- 
ters — and Hottentots who were merely out of place, 
and had been apprehended and sent here till some 
white man should deign to accept of their services, 
offered to him not by themselves, but by colonial law ! 

"But all castes and grades, the innocent and the 
guilty, and the injured complainant equally with the 
hardened malefactor, were crowded together without 
distinction into this narrow and noisome dungeon. 

" There was yet another group, more interesting 
perhaps than any of the others. It was a family of 
CafFres, consisting of two men, a woman, and child, and 



lxiv MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PIUNGLE. 

a youth of about sixteen. The men were seated, 
naked, on the clay floor, heavily ironed, and having 
their ankles fixed to a huge iron ring, which confined 
them like stocks in a recumbent posture. One of them 
displayed a frame of herculean size and strength ; but 
his countenance, though free from ferocity, was unani- 
mated by intelligence. The calm and thoughtful fea- 
tures of his comrade, a man of middle age, expressed 
nothing of mere animal or savage passion, but were 
marked by & certain air of mental dignity and reflec- 
tion. The female was said to be the wife of the latter ; 
and she had an infant encircled in the warm folds of 
her mantle. Her dress consisted of the ordinary caross 
of ox or antelope hide, dressed with the hair upon it, 
together with a short petticoat of similar materials, 
and a kerchief of finer leather (from the skin, I be- 
lieve, of the weazel or wild cat) drawn like a veil over 
the bosom — indicating, altogether, feelings of womanly 
modesty and decorum, pleasing to meet with amidst so 
much wretchedness and barbarism, and forming a fa- 
vourable contrast to the disgusting nudity of some of 
the other females around her. Her deportment was 
quiet and subdued ; and her features, if not handsome 
to European eyes, were yet expressive of gentleness and 
simplicity of character. But the Caffre youth who 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. lxv 

stood beside this female, and who looked like her 
younger brother, was truly a model of juvenile beauty. 
His figure, which was almost entirely naked, displayed 
graceful ease and great symmetry of proportion. His 
high broad forehead, and handsome nose and mouth, 
approached the European standard; and the mild, yet 
manly expression of his full black eyes and ingenuous open 
brow, bespoke confidence and good will at the first sight. 
" These CafFres were waiting the arrival of the Cir- 
cuit Court to stand their trial on a charge of murder. 
In endeavouring to escape to their own country from 
the district of Swellendam, they had been driven by 
hunger to steal a sheep. A boor's amazonian wife 
pursued them, and ordered her son, a boy of twelve or 
fourteen years of age, to fire on them. The boy fired, 
and shot one of the CafFres, whose comrades then 
turned in fury and slew the woman. This act roused 
the colonists on every side to rise in pursuit of 
them, and the unhappy fugitives were soon hunted 
down and delivered up to justice. They had been con- 
fined in the Beaufort jail some months before my ar- 
rival, and were then awaiting their trial on the arrival 
of the Court of Circuit which was expected in a few 
days. Owing to the want of evidence, however, or 
some similar cause, their case was not decided by the 



1XV1 MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

judges that season ; and twelve months afterwards I 
heard that they were still lying immured in the horrid 
jail where I saw them. What w r as their ultimate fate 
I never was able to ascertain." 

Our travellers at length arrived at Cape Town, and 
in September, 1822, Pringle commenced a residence 
there of nearly three years, the events of which were 
destined to be of no small importance both to himself 
and the colony. At this time the arrival of a commis- 
sion of inquiry was expected, and Lord Charles was 
busily engaged in setting his house in order to receive 
them, Slavery was pronounced by authority to be 
an evil, and the dogma was promulgated that it was 
the duty of civilised men to remedy the defects of the 
system. Schools were to be established, and the En- 
glish language and literature patronised ; the public 
library was countenanced by the public functionaries ; 
aud there was even a whisper allowed to emanate from 
high places, that the Government Gazette was to be put 
into the hands of the new librarian, and rendered sub- 
servient to the diffusion of useful knowledge throughout 
the colony. The most remarkable triumph, however, 
of liberal principles that had ever been achieved at the 
Cape, was the execution of a man for the murder of 
another, although it was incontestably proved that the 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. lxvii 

murdered person's complexion was several shades 
darker than that of the murderer. 

Putting all these things together, it is no wonder that 
Pringle's heart beat high at the prospect which seemed 
to open before him. As if conducted by an especial 
Providence, he had reached the seat of government at 
a moment when the elements of all things great and 
good were in motion. The dawn of a new era was 
opening upon the darkened land ; and the march of that 
civilisation he would perhaps himself be permitted to 
assist in pioneering, was in all probability destined to 
traverse not merely a colony but a continent. Under 
these circumstances he wrote to Mr. Fairbairn, then in 
Scotland, to invite him to join him, and the overture 
was at once accepted. He had a high respect for his 
friend's classical attainments, and for his poetical 
pieces, which are written in harmonious verse, and are 
of a dreamy and imaginative character ; but it may be 
a question whether Mr. Fairbairn was not still better 
prepared for the stormy atmosphere of the Cape, by 
the portion which he inherited of the " indomitable 
spirit of the north." 

Before Mr. Fairbairn's arrival, however, Pringle had 
time to look round him, and his naturally acute mind 
was not slow in penetrating through the glamour of 



lxviii MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

policy. The circumstances I have mentioned were new 
at the Cape, and the change they indicated was sur- 
prising from its suddenness. What connexion had 
this change with the expected arrival of commissioners 
to inquire into the political condition of the colony ? 
Suspicion was at least excusable ; and the new libra- 
rian, preparing for the failure of his hopes, determined, 
while waiting for better times, to exercise his industry 
in eking out a very indifferent income. He at first re- 
ceived pupils for private instruction ; and then, in con- 
junction with the Rev. Mr. Faure, a Dutch clergyman 
of the town, made arrangements for disseminating 
knowledge in a more general manner, by the publica- 
tion of a periodical in both languages. 

Here, however, he reckoned without his host. A 
literary journal, not the Government Gazette ! The 
idea was preposterous. Lord Charles was not even 
startled by so extravagant a scheme ; and when the 
memorial of the projectors was sent in to him in the 
form required by law, on the 3rd of February 1823, 
he merely directed the secretary to reply verbally, 
" that the application had not been seen in a favourable 
light." What were they to do? Pringle was for 
insisting at least upon a written answer ; but Colonel 
Bird, the colonial secretary, a liberal and enlightened 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. lxix 

man, warned him of the danger to all his prospects 
which would attend such a step ; and it was at length 
resolved that they should submit in silence, and await 
the arrival of the Commissioners. 

Such, so far as it goes, is a plain account made up 
from his printed " Narrative " and unpublished cor- 
respondence, of the hitherto private and comparatively 
unimportant events of the life of Thomas Pringle. 
The reader, however, who has perused an article on the 
same subject in a contemporary journal, will hardly 
know what credit is due to me*. In that article, a 
man of respectable parentage, who has been carefully 
nurtured, who receives an academical education, and 
who has been accustomed all his life to associate with 
what the vulgar call " genteel people," is represented 
as one of those persons who have the misfortune to be 
dazzled or inflated by the condescending notice of their 
superiors. A man who is simply lame in one leg, 
owing to its having been dislocated in infancy, is 
described as being " small, weak, and distorted," and 
full of " woeful physical deformities. " A man who 
passes his youth at college till his nineteenth year in 
the various studies which compose an elegant education, 

* Quarterly Review, No. CIX. pages 74 — 96. 



1XX MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

is said to have been a parochial schoolmaster, who, 
intoxicated by the notice vouchsafed to his untaught 
verses by Sir Walter Scott, removes to Edinburgh, and 
madly plunges into literature as a profession. A man 
thus lame, thus weak, thus helpless (as the journalist 
describes him), who proceeds to the Cape, in the hope of 
rising in the colony through the patronage of the Home 
Government, is condemned as exhibiting an habitual 
discontent and readiness for any change, because he 
does not sit down as a farmer on the CafTre frontier, 
and retain forcible possession — being himself destitute 
of pecuniary resources — of a property he had taken for 
his brother. Finally, a man who, finding his other 
hopes of rising in the colony altogether groundless, 
desires to turn his literary talents to account in esta- 
blishing a periodical, is branded for that most enormous 
presumption and infatuation, as a person haunted by 
the demon of restless ambition ! 

About the motives of the writer alluded to, if any, or 
of the editor of the work (who knew Mr. Pringle person- 
ally), I of course can know nothing ; but it is incumbent 
upon me to say that the article, though in some respects 
just, is in the greater part grossly and cruelly incorrect. 
When it goes on to aver that the journal, afterwards 
conducted by Pringle at the Cape, became dangerous 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. lxxi 

to the well-being of the colony, 1 merely dissent from 
the opinion. In this the writer does nothing more 
than pursue his calling as a political partisan, and with 
that, as a mere literary man, I have nothing to do. I 
think it only just, however, to insert in the margin a 
few sentences produced by Pringle as a specimen of the 
uniform political tone of the journal in question*. 



* " To the Dutch Colonists, now our countrymen and fellow- 
subjects, we particularly address the following remarks. However 
much they may occasionally have been galled by the unfair or 
unfeeling sarcasms of English travellers and journalists, they may 
rest assured that the regards of the government and people of 
England are directed towards them with indulgent liberality and 
affection. Let authors be judged of by their words, but nations 
and governments only by their actions. England, of all nations 
that ever existed, pursues the most liberal system of policy towards 
the colonies she has won or nurtured. Her ministers, no doubt, 
are fallible, like other men ; they have sometimes erred in regard to 
the administration of the colonies, and may possibly err again ; but 
it must be from ignorance of the truth, if the British Government 
ever permits deliberate injustice to be done towards any appendage 
of the empire. This colony, if abandoned by England, would fall an 
easy prey to the first rapacious tyrant that chose to seize upon it. 
Under her free and fostering guardianship alone, may we rationally 
hope to attain permanent prosperity, liberty, and happiness. 

" Let, therefore, no temporary vexations, nor any possible accu- 
mulation of private annoyances, ever for a moment weaken the firm 
loyalty of our fellow-subjects (whether Dutch or English) towards 
the wise, just, and beneficent government of England. Is she not 
doing for us all we have ever asked of her — and more ? Has she 
not sent out able and honourable men to inquire into our local griev- 
ances, disadvantages, and restrictions — his Majesty's Commissioners, 



lxxii MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

When the Commissioners arrived, he stated the case 
to them, as regarded himself and the colonial govern- 
ment ; and, being English gentlemen of education and 
intelligence, they as a matter of course appeared to 
appreciate properly the views with which few civilised 
persons could have found fault. Their powers, how- 
ever, did not extend beyond the task of reporting to 
the Home Government ; and the " demon of ambition" 
was under the necessity of going .to sleep as before. 

Pringle now, in conjunction with Mr. Fair bairn, 

who are at this moment traversing the remotest districts of our 
country, to hear and see and report upon whatever requires to be 
amended ? Whoever now sits sulkily down and broods fretfully 
over his wrongs, or disadvantages, instead of availing himself of the 
legitimate channel which has been so considerately opened for their 
redress, deserves to bear them for ever unpitied — and can never 
hereafter ascribe the fault to the neglect of the British government. 

" Above all, let all good and patriotic citizens beware of any 
intemperance, in word or deed, towards any individual to whom the 
legal authority of government has been delegated. We are Free- 
men ; and, if any of our rulers do oppression or wrong, they can be 
called to answer for it at the bar of their country, as well as the 
meanest of their fellow-subjects : but their office and persons ought 
to be duly respected so long as they continue to occupy the stations 
to which our gracious Sovereign has been pleased to promote them. 
If there be any person in the colony (we trust that there are none) 
who would teach men disrespect to even the shadow of Legal 
Authority, let good citizens be aware of them. Fools and des- 
peradoes may talk or act intemperately : wise and patriotic men 
ought to be distinguished by candour, calmness, and self-possession." 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. lxxiii 

organised a private academy on an extensive scale ; and 
so much was his mind occupied by this new business, 
which flourished beyond his most sanguine hopes, that 
a communication from the governor, when at length it 
came, on the subject of his old project of a journal, was 
received with surprise. Lord Bathurst, it seems, unlike 
the colonial functionary, had seen the plan in a favour- 
able light; and Lord Charles could do nothing more 
than show the ill humour with which he obeyed. The 
" South African Journal " then appeared, as originally 
intended, one edition in English and one in Dutch. 
Soon after, Mr. Greig, a printer, emboldened by this 
victory of civilisation, commenced the " South African 
Commercial Advertiser," a weekly newspaper ; but 
being unable to manage the literary department, he 
called in the aid of Pringle and his coadjutor, who 
undertook also the editorship of the journal in addition 
to that of their own. The two works flourished ; the 
pupils of the academy increased ; and Pringle for a 
time fancied himself in the fair road to fortune com- 
bined with public utility. 

"We had strictly excluded personality," says he 
" (the besetting vice of small communities), from our 
columns : not the shadow of a complaint could be 
brought against us on that score. Mere party politics 

/ 



Ixxiv MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

we had shunned, as being altogether alien from our 
objects as colonial journalists. Topics likely to excite 
violent controversy in the colony, such as the Slavery 
question, the condition of the aborigines, &c. (however 
decided were our own opinions on such points), we had 
also carefully abstained from discussing. We had in 
fact rejected numerous communications on all these 
subjects, considering it injudicious to arouse premature 
debate, even on legitimate and important public ques- 
tions, in the then critical condition of the press and of 
the colony. We had, therefore, flattered ourselves 
that it would be scarcely possible for the most jealous 
scrutiny to find a plausible pretext for interference. 
But it was our singular fate to be sacrificed not for sins 
actually committed, but from apprehension of those 
which we might possibly com mi t." 

The trial of one Edwards took place for a libel 
against the Governor, and was of course expected to be 
reported, like other trials, in the newspaper. Unlike 
other reports, however, from this one all allusions 
offensive to the noble individual concerned had been 
carefully expunged ; a fact which was afterwards proved 
to the Commissioners by the production of the proof 
sheet. But this I humbly conceive to have no effect 
one way or other upon the question. The only cir- 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 1XXV 

cumstance with which we have anything to do is, that 
on this occasion the Fiscal was ordered to proceed to 
the printing-office, and assume the censorship of the 
press. It need hardly be said of Pringle — nor indeed 
of any man not a publicly confessed coward and traitor — 
that he indignantly refused to consent to this prosti- 
tution of a portion, even though a distant portion, of 
the British press; and accordingly, having no legal 
mode of resisting the arbitrary power of the govern- 
ment, he and his colleague threw up the editorship of 
the paper. Mr. Greig immediately discontinued the 
publication, announcing to its readers his intention 
of awaiting the decision of his Majesty's Government. 
For this offence Mr. Greig's press was ordered to be 
sealed up, and himself commanded to leave the colony 
within a month. 

The storm next broke upon the magazine. # A week 
after the appearance of the second number, which took 
place on the 7th of May, the day before the warrant 
for Greig's banishment was issued, the Fiscal sent to 
Pringle, complained of obnoxious paragraphs, and dis- 
tinctly intimated, that if they had been observed in 
time, he would himself have expunged them, or sup- 
pressed the number. To the threats and warnings for 
the future with which the functionary concluded his 

f* 



Ixxvi MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

oration, Pringle merely replied, by disclaiming the 
right of censorship he assumed ; and on the 15th the 
discontinuance of the work was announced in the 
Gazette. 

A petition to the King in Council was now got up 
by the respectable inhabitants ; and the Governor ap- 
pears to have become seriously alarmed. He resolved 
to try what personal intimidation would do with this 
" small, 5 ' "weak," "distorted," " woefully deformed," 
" helpless," and above all ungenteel emigrant ; and the 
reader will pardon us for giving the scene in Pringle's 
own words. 

" Lord Charles summoned me to appear immediately 
before him at his audience-room in the Colonial Office. 
I found him with the Chief Justice, Sir John Truter, 
seated on his right hand, and the second number of our 
6 South- African Journal ' lying open before him. There 
was a storm on his brow, and it burst forth at once 
upon me like a long-gathered south-easter from Table 
Mountain. * So, Sir ! ' he began, ' you are one of those 
who dare to insult me, and oppose my government ! ' 
and then he launched forth into a long tirade of abuse; 
scolding, upbraiding, and taunting me, with all the 
domineering arrogance of mien and sneering insolence 
of expression of which he was so great a master, re- 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. lxxvii 

proaching me above all for my ingratitude for his per- 
sonal favours. While he thus addressed me, in the 
most insulting style, I felt my frame tremble with in- 
dignation ; but I saw that the Chief Justice was placed 
there for a witness of my demeanour, and that my de- 
struction was sealed if I gave way to my feelings, and 
was not wary in my words. I stood up, however, and 
confronted this most arrogant man with a look of dis- 
dain, under which his haughty eye instantly sank, 
and replied to him with a calmness of which I had not 
a few minutes before thought myself capable. I told 
him that I was quite sensible of the position in which 
I stood — a very humble individual before the repre- 
sentative of my sovereign; but I also knew what was 
due to myself as a British subject and a gentleman, 
and that I would not submit to be rated in the style 
he had assumed by any man, whatever were his sta- 
tion or his rank. I repelled his charges of having 
acted unworthy of my character as a government ser- 
vant and a loyal subject ; — I defended my conduct in 
regard to the press and the character of our magazine, 
which he said was full of i calumny and falsehood ;' — 
I asserted my right to petition the King for the exten- 
sion of the freedom of the press to the colony : and I 
denied altogether the ' personal obligations ' with which 



lxxviii MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

h e upbraided me, having never asked nor received from 
him the slightest personal favour, unless the lands al- 
lotted to my party, and my own appointment to the 
Government Library, were considered such, — though 
the latter was, in fact, a public duty assigned to me, 
in compliance with the recommendations of the Home 
Government. This situation, however, I now begged 
to resign, since I would not compromise my free 
agency for that or for any appointment his lordship 
could bestow. 

" Lord Charles then saw he had gone a step too far. 
He had, in fact, misapprehended my character, and had 
made a most uncommon mistake, in taking a certain 
bashfulness of manner (mauvaise Jionte) for timidity of 
spirit. And as his object then was not absolutely to 
quarrel with, but merely to intimidate me, and thus 
render me subservient to his views, he immediately 
lowered his tone, and had the singular meanness, after 
the insulting terms he had used, to attempt to coax me 
by flattery, and by throwing out hints of his disposi- 
tion to promote my personal views, if I would conduct 
myself ' discreetly.' He wished the magazine, he said, 
still to go on ; and even alleged that the Fiscal had in 
some points exceeded his instructions in regard to us. 
But this attempt to cajole, when he found he could not 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. lxxix 

bully me, disgusted me even more than his insolence. 
I saw the motive, and despised it: I saw the peril, too, 
and feared it : ' timeo Danaos ! * I resolutely declined, 
therefore, his repeated invitations (to which he called 
the Chief Justice formally to bear witness) to recom- 
mence the magazine, unless legal protection were 
granted to the press. And so ended my last con- 
ference with Lord Charles Somerset. I retired, and 
immediately sent in the resignation of my Government 
appointment." 

A Literary and Scientific Society, founded by 
the " demon of restless ambition," and the roll of 
which contained the names of some of the principal 
government functionaries, next felt the vengeance of 
Lord Charles. The Chief Justice and others were 
ordered to withdraw their names instantly ; and inti- 
mation was at the same time distinctly given, that 
everything else in which Pringie was concerned should 
share the same fate. And this was no empty threat. 
A system of espionage was set on foot, in which the 
caitiff Oliver, so well known in this country, was em- 
ployed. Terror and suspicion were depicted on every 
countenance. Persons were denounced as disaffected 
for being known even to continue in acquaintanceship 
with Pringie. The result may be foreseen. He had 



1XXX MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

already lost the editorship of the newspaper ; and in 
the magazine he had lost what promised to become a 
valuable property. His flourishing academy was now 
ruined ; his prospects, even of bread for his family, 
were destroyed ; and he himself was thrust forth again 
upon the world. 

While reflecting upon the circumstances of Pringle's 
residence in South Africa, I cannot help being struck 
with what is commonly called the " injustice of for- 
tune " as regarded him. Whenever the emancipa- 
tion of the coloured races is mentioned, names — 
glorious names in the history of civilisation ! — pre- 
sent themselves to the grateful memory ; but who 
recals that humble emigrant, whose moral influence, 
spreading like an atmosphere throughout the colony, 
prepared the minds of men for a revolution, which, 
remote and comparatively unimportant as was the 
field of action, can be reckoned nothing less than 
sublime? Pringle communicated a portion of his 
mind to our African colony; and not merely in the 
printed essays, and moral struggles, of the philanthro- 
pist was his advocacy of the eternal principles of 
nature and religion made manifest, but even the wild 
strains of his Border muse sent a thrill of gene- 
rous feeling through many a cold and selfish heart. 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. lxxxi 

In his history, in fact, is exhibited the stealthy in- 
fluence of literature, unseen in its action, but felt 
more powerfully in its results than the fiercest war. 

From October, 1824, to April, 1826, to give even 
an outline of his history would lead us into the discus- 
sion of political questions, which, however interesting 
in themselves, would be considered irrelevant in a per- 
sonal memoir. During that period, he was diligently 
employed in making himself acquainted with the true 
condition of the colony, and more especially of the 
frontier, where his own party were located. During 
the greater part of 1825 he was in correspondence with 
the Commissioners of Inquiry, not only respecting his 
own case, but on the subject of various abuses in the 
local administration, the treatment of the coloured race, 
and the defence of the frontier. This, in fact, although 
it affords no scope for the personal biographer, was one 
of the busiest periods of his life — of a life devoted, from 
his thirtieth year, to the interests of his country and 
mankind. 

It is not my purpose to go farther into the history 
of the Cape ; but I may mention briefly that he was 
one of the originators of the second great measure next 
to the political emancipation of the Hottentots, namely, 
their establishment as independent occupiers of land. 



IxXXii MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

His paper, given in to the Commissioners in 1823, was 
entitled " Hints of a Plan for defending the Eastern 
Frontier of the Colony by a Settlement of Hottentots." 

I may also state, that, while acting as Secretary, in 
1823-4, to the Society for the Relief of the Distressed 
Settlers in Albany, he was one of the most active mem- 
bers of that meritorious body. His own party, how- 
ever, although included in the district, neither applied 
for, nor consented to receive, any portion of the relief 
fund. 1 have more than once been struck, while writing 
these pages, with the important uses to which literary 
talents may be turned, when directed by good feelings ; 
and on this occasion 1 find Pringle, although perhaps 
the very poorest of the Society, contributing the most 
important donation of the whole. This was in the 
form of a pamphlet, entitled, " Some Account of the 
Present State of the English Settlers in Albany, South 
Africa," which he sent for publication to London. The 
result of these united efforts was the collection of 7000/. 
from England and India, besides 3000/. raised in the 
colony. 

"Ruined in circumstances and in prospects, but 
sound in conscience and in character," says Mr. Conder, 
" Mr. Pringle began to prepare seriously for return- 
ing to England ; prior to which he resolved on an 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. lxXXlii 

excursion to the eastern frontier, to see once more his 
relatives at Glen-Lynden. There he had the pure 
satisfaction of finding the little colony he had assisted 
in planting*, in tolerably prosperous circumstances. 
f Under the blessing of Providence/ he says, ' its pros- 
perity has been steadily progressive. The friends whom 
I left there, though they have not escaped some occa- 
sional trials and disappointments, such as all men are 
exposed to in this uncertain world, have yet enjoyed a 
goodly share of health, competence, and peace.' Out 
of the twenty-three souls who had accompanied him to 
Glen-Lynden, he records, fourteen years after, that 
there had occurred only a single death, and that was 
owing to the accidental bursting of a gun ; while by 
births alone, exclusive of new settlers, who had joined 
them, they had more than doubled their number. ' On 
the whole,' piously remarks Mr. Pringle, in concluding 
his interesting narrative, ' I have great cause to bless 
God, both as regards the prosperity of my father's 
house, and in many respects as regards my own career 
in life, that His good providence directed our emigrant 
course fourteen years ago to the wilds of Southern 
Africa.' " 

He left the Cape of Good Hope on the 16th of 
April, uiid arrived in London on the 7th of July, 1826. 



lxxxiv 



CHAPTER III. 

Return to England — Application to the Government for Compensa- 
tion — Refusal — Engaged as Secretary to the Anti- Slavery Society 
— His Conduct in that Situation — Letters to him from Wilberforce 
— From Clarkson — Visit to Wilberforce — Interferences on behalf 
of the last of the Hottentot Chiefs — Case of Mary Prince— Of 
Henry Bains and others — His general Benevolence — Obtains the 
renewal of Coleridge's Pension — Notes from Sir James Mackintosh, 
Rogers, Joseph Hardman, and Coleridge. 

When Pringle, accompanied by his wife, and Miss 
Brown, her sister, the faithful companion of all their 
wanderings, again set his face towards Europe, the 
prospect before them was not so disheartening as one 
would at first sight imagine. He did not return in 
precisely the same position. He had appeared on a 
stage where his conduct had been visible to one-half 
of the enlightened men in the empire. He had ap- 
peared, not in the easily assumed character of a brawl- 
ing demagogue, but in that of the temperate and 
judicious friend of the friendless and oppressed. He 
had been the modest but fearless champion of the. 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. lxXXV 

liberty of the Press in a British colony. Was it not 
reasonable to suppose that in England he would be 
better appreciated than in Africa ? Was it not rea- 
sonable to suppose that services which had been habi- 
tually devoted to the cause of Civilisation abroad, 
would be readily accepted, if not eagerly demanded, at 
home ? 

His accounts, it is true, were made up with the 
Cape, and a balance shown against him of one thousand 
pounds. This sum he had not lost, but he had to pay. 
His establishment had been rising gradually above the 
mass of debt in which it originated, when the lordly 
foot of the governor had crushed it ; and the balance 
not yet surmounted was one thousand pounds. Was 
this now to be deducted from his European earnings ? 
or, in the absence of sufficient earnings, was it to 
weigh permanently upon his energies, like the Old 
Man of the Mountain bestriding the shoulders of 
Sindbad ? The idea seemed to be preposterous. His 
losses were caused, not by his own misconduct, but 
by the misconduct of a confidential minister of a 
great empire ; and surely England would never shrink 
from a responsibility which would be acknowledged 
in a similar case by the meanest tradesman in the 
country ? 



IxXXvi MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

This reasoning, it turned out, was fallacious, for his 
claims for compensation were disallowed by Earl 
Bathurst. If I have myself come to a conclusion differ- 
ent from that of his Lordship — and I have done so, 
after a careful perusal of the numerous letters, and 
other documents, which bear upon the question, and 
in particular of Pringle's correspondence with the 
Commissioners of Inquiry — the reason is, that I have 
decided, not in law, but in equity. The Minister's 
decision was founded upon that of the Commissioners : 
and theirs was founded upon testimony appealed to by 
the claimant himself. This was the testimony of Sir 
John Truter, and other persons connected with the 
government. These persons declared, in effect, that 
Lord Charles had treated Mr. Pringle throughout in a 
mild and gentlemanlike manner ; and that the fact of 
the latter throwing up his appointment, and ruining 
himself, was entirely a matter of choice, connected with 
some peculiarity of taste in the individual. The 
destruction of the school, they averred, was caused by 
his own inattention ; that is to say, by his imprudence 
in devolving the principal duties upon his partner, 
Mr. Fairbairn, a man of high scholastic attain- 
ments, and for many years accustomed to tuition in 
Europe. 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. lxXXVli 

This testimony, however extraordinary as it was, 
the Commissioners could not set aside ; for Sir John 
Truter was the Chief Justice of the colony. Is it 
worth while to add, that the witness was one of those 
persons who were ordered by Lord Charles to withdraw 
their names from the Literary Society, because it ori- 
ginated with Mr. Pringle, and who made haste to 
obey ; — Sir John, at the same time, avowing, " with 
a sort of rueful simplicity, that he conscientiously 
believed the institution to be a most praiseworthy one, 
and calculated to be of inestimable advantage to the 
community !" 

On receiving the decision of Earl Bathurst, Pringle 
replied in a manly, straightforward letter, thanking his 
lordship for the prompt attention he had paid to his 
case, and refraining from any accusation of unfairness 
against the Commissioners. Forced to abandon the 
position he had taken, he submitted his claim for com- 
pensation on three other distinct grounds. First, on 
account of his conduct, attested by the local magis- 
trates, as the head of a band of settlers ; second, on 
account of his zealous exertions to benefit the colony, 
as an author and editor; and, third, on account of 
the valuable information with which, on various occa- 
sions, he had furnished the Commissioners. It is only 



IxXXViH MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

necessary for me to mention, with regard to the last 
ground, that his communications to the Commis- 
sioners, both in respect to length and interest, would 
form a little volume of considerable value, and that I 
have just now before me various letters from these 
gentlemen to him, containing an expression of their 
thanks for the trouble he had taken. Their letter, 
dated 20th October, 1825, contains the following 
handsome and distinct acknowledgment of his ser- 
vices : — 

" We cannot but express our thanks for the trouble 
you have taken in reducing to a very perspicuous and 
intelligible form a series of measures that throw light 
upon the system that has been pursued, and, in as far 
as its merits are to be estimated by the motives you 
assign for its origin and its continuance, may assist us 
in forming a right judgment." 

Let me add, that during the time this correspondence 
was going on, and it extended over great part of a year, 
he employed a messenger to travel seventy miles every 
week for his letters. 

To this new application the following official reply 
was returned : — 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. Ixxxix 

Downing Street, 6th November, 1820. 
Sir, 

I have received and laid before Earl Bathurst your 
letter of the 23rd ult., and I am desired to acquaint you, in 
reply, that his Lordship is not disposed to reject your applica- 
tion altogether, although he sees little or no prospect at pre- 
sent of being of service to you. 

You are aware that it was exclusively for your conduct 
as a settler that his Lordship felt inclined to hold out to you 
any encouragement ; but as you have quitted the Cape, you 
have placed it out of his Lordship^ power to assist your views 
in the manner that might have been done if you had remained 
in the colony. 

I am, Sir, your most obedient servant, 

R. W. Hay. 

Thomas Pringle, Esq. 

Now, from the above letter, I conclude, in the first 
place, that the claim for compensation was felt by the 
Minister to be just ; and, in the second place, that he 
took himself out of its way by what is vulgarly called 
a shuffle — Lord Bathurst knowing well, from the cir- 
cumstances of the case, and more especially from the 
publicly expressed determination of Lord Charles to 
crush the presumptuous emigrant, that it was not in his 
power to keep them both in the colony at the same 
time. However, the affair was settled. Pringle had 
been ruined for asserting the rights of a freeman ; his 
claims, while they were allowed in theory, were disre- 
garded in practice, by the Government ; and all he 

g 



XC MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

had now to do, was to support his family in the best 
way he was able, and pay his thousand pounds. 

His interference, however, in the "affairs of the Cape 
was not to be without its results. Before leaving South 
Africa, he had resolved to make the British public 
acquainted with the state of slavery in the colony ; and 
with this view he transmitted to England an article 
on the subject, for insertion in the New Monthly 
Magazine. " It appeared," says he, in a note to the 
' Narrative,' " in October following ; and, by a remark- 
able train of circumstances, led to my subsequent 
acquaintance with Mr. Buxton and Mr. Z. Macaulay, 
and eventually to my becoming secretary to the Anti- 
Slavery Society." 

What these circumstances were I do not know of my 
own knowledge ; and it is not important to the narra- 
tive to notice the difference of opinion which exists 
among his friends upon the subject. In the following 
year, 1827? he commenced the duties of a situation 
far more important to mankind than that of a secretary 
of state ; and, till the glorious triumph of at least the 
principles of the Society, he thenceforward continued 
to pursue a career of usefulness not inferior to that of 
any individual connected with the sacred cause. 

To write the history of the secretary of the Anti- 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. XC1 

Slavery Society, would be to write the history of the 
great Abolition Question. To that cause his energies 
of body and mind were devoted ; and here again is 
afforded a remarkable instance of the all-pervading 
influence of literature. Had he been a mere secre- 
tary, his efforts, however praiseworthy, would have 
been comparatively unimportant. But as it was, he 
contrived to introduce a portion of his own enthusiasm 
into the press. I well remember his zeal on this most 
important point ; and I do not speak of it merely with 
reference to myself, the humblest of his literary friends. 
Yet let me not be supposed to underrate the power of 
even the most frivolous public writer. The influence 
of the press is by no means confined to politics and 
literature. The fugitive essay — the occasional poem — 
the " novel of the season " — are each a powerful engine 
in the formation or direction of opinion, and not the 
less powerful that their operation is unnoticed or unseen. 
This zeal, in connexion with an essential part of his 
character, I cannot better or more finely illustrate 
than by the following extract from a letter to one 
of his confidential friends. He had undertaken the 
editorship of " Friendship's Offering," a well-known 
Annual, and was complaining to his correspondent — * 
(a lady, whose name, after the revelations made to me 

9* 



XC11 MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

by the papers of the deceased, will ever be associated 
in my mind with the holiest and most beautiful feelings 
of our nature) — of having been prevented by circum- 
stances, which he mentioned, from indulging in his own 
subject in the first volume committed to his charge. 

" Should I agree," he continues, " to edit another 
volume however, I shall certainly insert a story or two 
illustrative of the condition of the colonial population 
in South Africa ; for, though my immediate object in 
undertaking the editorship of such a work is to eke 
out an otherwise scanty income, I do not feel satisfied 
at devoting even my leisure hours to an object which 
has no higher aim than the mere entertainment of the 
lovers of light literature." 

I recollect that, at his suggestion and request, I 
wrote an examination of the great question for one of 
the periodicals; and I recollect, too, that in writing 
other papers, on quite a different subject, my pen fre- 
quently strayed, almost unconsciously, into an expres- 
sion of the sentiments I entertained regarding slavery- 
A similar effect, I know, was produced upon many of 
his other friends; and, in fact, if such apparently 
casual ebullitions on the part of literary men could be 
traced to their source, I have no doubt in my mind 
but at least one half of them, during the period of his 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. XClll 

secretaryship, would be found to have originated in 
Pringle. 

The opinion of his character, and of the importance 
of his services, entertained by Clarkson, Buxton, 
Macaulay, and other eminent individuals connected 
with the Society, they are still, thank God, able to 
repeat ; but upon that of Wilberforce, Stephen, and 
Smith, great patriarchs of the cause, death has put 
his seal, The following extracts from one of Wilber- 
force's letters to Pringle, will serve as a valuable testi- 
monial : — 

Elmdon House, near Birmingham, 
23rd January, 1832. 
My dear Sir, 

I really should appear to exaggerate if I were to 
express the pain it gives me to refuse my assent to your 
request. But I really think I ought not to interfere, now 
that I no longer contribute towards the support of the hos- 
pital. I have really been reflecting on the case, with almost 
a dishonest endeavour to convince myself I might support 
your friend ; but I really could not do it with a good con^ 
science ; though, if there be any other governors, or influential 
people, to whom I could apply in your friend's behalf, I will 
do it. Your letter, which reached me last night, creates in 
me no little solicitude for our almost invaluable friend, even 
though my affections are just now almost absorbed in the 
dangerous state of my only daughter. I have desired a friend 
to give me a line of information, and wish I were able to show 
you better than by mere words how much I feel to be due to 



XC1V MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PR1NGLE. 

you for your exertions in our great and good cause. May the 
Almighty pour down his blessings on you. 

I am ever sincerely yours, with cordial esteem and 
regard, 

W. WlLBERFORCE. 

Thomas Pringle, Esq. 

I ought not to lay down my pen without assuring you, tha^ 
whenever, D. V., I am in London again, I shall feel it an act 
of friendly regard if you will do me the favour to come and 
shake me by the hand ; and if the gentleman you mention 
should also be able, I shall be happy to give him, or any 
one you may introduce me to, the same pledge of cordial 
welcome. 

I believe I shall be readily excused for printing 
another letter, still more characteristic of this excellent 
and eminent man. 



Highwood Hill, Middlesex, Tuesday Night, 
2nd February, 1830. 
My dear Sir, 

It is, I solemnly assure you, a standing subject of 
regret with me, that they who give each other credit for being 
governed by Christian principles, nevertheless do not speak 
and act towards each other with that generous frankness and 
unreservedness which such principles should render habitual. 
I will, however, use this freedom in addressing" you, trusting 
you will not misconstrue a frankness, which I should not prac- 
tise but from a persuasion that you will not merely not mis- 
construe it, but that you will meet it with a corresponding 
disposition of mind. 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. XCV 

Wednesday, 2^ o Clock. 

I see, on hastily glancing over the list of the Glen-Lynden 
Library, that there is no Bible with Notes in it. Now, I 
would send a copy of Scott's Bible, if I thought it would be 
likely to be duly valued, and well employed. It is this ques- 
tion which I was about to ask, as a sequel to my first sentence. 
The honest truth is, that I am not able to assist my friends 
in the execution of plans of usefulness at all in the same 
degree as formerly ; yet a work such as Scott's in a new 
colony, may, if likely to be recommended and patronised, 
prove a bag of seed-corn, which may become the parent of 
large future harvests. I remember you told me the number 
of your family and party, twenty- eight I think ; but I did 
not understand you to state that this constituted the whole 
of your settlement. You say in your letter that the vessel 
for the Cape is to sail this week ; I therefore must despatch 
my parcels, both that for Mr. Bird and that for Glen-Lynden, 
by to-morrow's carrier, otherwise I should have had the 
volumes bound that are in boards. Perhaps this may be 
done in Africa well enough for use, though not for the shop of 
a London bookseller. 

I am forced, in great haste, to subscribe myself, with esteem 
and regard, yours truly, 

W. WlLBERFORCE. 

P.S. — Let me not forget to mention, that the arrival on 
Tuesday, January 26, of letters to you, suggested the suspi- 
cion that you would have stayed longer if more pressed. 
Honestly, we all were sorry you did not prolong your visit, 
and so I thought we had made you think. The contrary idea 
really gave me some pain. But I hope I am mistaken. 

I cannot refrain from copying, also, the following 
letter from Clarkson, the distinguished colleague of 



-XCVI MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

Wilberforce, for which I am sure he will forgive me, 
although 1 have not had an opportunity of soliciting 
his permission. 

Playford, Sept. 23, 1833. 

It has struck me lately, that there ought to be written, 
without delay, a History of the Abolition of Slavery. No 
person could write it so well as Mr. Macaulay, but next to 
him I should look to yourself ; and if you would undertake it, 
and Mr. Macaulay would give you his assistance, we should 
have a good work on that subject. You have all the docu- 
ments before you in the minutes of the Committee, except in 
the minutes of the private meetings of individuals who met 
time after time to prepare the way for the introduction of a 
Committee. I believe the writer might make some hundreds 
of pounds by such a work ; and I think you ought to be 
the person entitled to such remuneration. I am the more 
desirous of mentioning the subject to you, because I be- 
lieve that the country committees will not much longer 
consent' to the keeping up of two committees with their 
respective establishments when the object has been accom- 
plished. I believe they would not object to one committee 
being kept up, with one secretary, to watch over the Bill for 
the Abolition of Slavery, in the same manner as the African 
Institution was formed (Mr. Stokes being the secretary) to 
watch over the Bill for the Abolition of the Slave Trade, 
which to my knowledge was of the greatest use. I mention 
it also, because such a work will assuredly be attempted, 
if it has not already been begun ; but then we know how 
lame and deficient such a work would be, compared with one 
from you, who have the minutes of the proceedings in your 
own hands. 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. XCV11 

Pringle was in the habit of visiting occasionally at 
their country-houses the most eminent members of the 
Anti-Slavery Society ; and the following account of the 
goings-on in Wilberforce's domestic life will be interest- 
ing to many readers. It is extracted from a familiar 
letter to Mrs. Pringle. 

Highwood Hill, Jan. 23, 1830. 

I arrived here last night about seven, without suffering much 
annoyance from cold, or finding the roads so bad as I expected. 
I have enjoyed a good night's rest, and now sit down, after 
breakfast, at a comfortable fire in my own room, to write you 
before I do anything else, and to give you a few details which 
I think will interest and entertain you. 

Finding on my arrival that there was company with the 
family, I desired the servant to show me to my bed-room, in 
order to adjust myself a little before joining them in the dining 
room. Mr. Wilberforce immediately came up, welcomed me 
with great cordiality, and pressed me to go down without 
dressing, as there was no fine company, but only Mr. Simeon 
from Cambridge, Mr. Sarjeant another clergyman, and two 
ladies, friends of the family. They had dined— and after an 
hours chat I prevailed on Mr. Wilberforce to retire for his 
usual nap, which he seemed disposed to forego on my 
account. At tea he again joined us — and then I told him 
the news of Lord William Bentinck having issued a proclama- 
tion at Benares, prohibiting in future the burning of widows 
throughout the British dominions in India. The good old 
man was overjoyed, and eagerly inquired into all the details, 
and as to the certainty of the intelligence ; on being assured 
of which I observed with interest that he covered his face 



XCV1I1 MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

with his hands, and appeared silently to offer up thanksgiving 
to God for this great triumph of Christian philanthropy, of 
which he had lived to witness the accomplishment. We 
conversed on this and various kindred topics till nine o'clock, 
when we adjourned to the hall for family worship. Mr. Wil- 
berforce himself gave out the hymn, and we were accompanied 
in singing by a small organ. All the servants (seven or 
eight) were present. The congregation of the household for 
this service has a very delightful and patriarchal appearance, 
especially when one observes the holy fervour with which 
this great and good man leads their devotions. Mr. Simeon 
read and briefly expounded a chapter of the Bible, and 
Mr. Wilberforce himself concluded with a prayer — so plain, 
appropriate, and impressive, that it greatly reminded me of 
the family prayers of some of my Scotch Seceder relations when 
I was a boy. 

After this the good old man again sat down with us at the 
fireside, conversed with interest and animation on a variety 
of subjects, and read a favourite passage or two of poetry 
which happened to be referred to, and it was past twelve 
o'clock before I could get away to bed. 

This morning we assembled to family worship at half-past 
nine, — afterwards breakfasted — and now I am come up to 
write my letters. The ground is quite covered with snow, so 
that there is no getting out, except when it is swept off from 
a gravel walk round the house. 

I have just discovered incidentally that the best bed-room 
has been appropriated to me — a mark of polite attention to 
a visitor without any of the attributes of worldly conse- 
quence, and especially when so many other visitors are in 
the house, which evinces true delicacy of feeling. 

Mrs. "Wilberforce is a sensible and well-informed woman, 
and converses readily and well on most topics. 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. XC1X 

Independently of Pringle's labours in the great cause 
of the African race, the individual cases in which he 
exerted himself would afford materials of themselves 
for the whole space I am able to devote to his memoirs. 
The case of Stuurman, the Hottentot chief, presents 
a fine exemplification of the power of benevolence, by 
which the arm of a private individual may reach its 
object even at the antipodes. The fate of this man 
appears to have created a strong interest in the breast 
of Pringle. His brother, Klaas Stuurman, was one of 
the leaders in the Hottentot wars with the boors ; but 
having been of great service to the Dutch government, 
in pacifying his insurgent countrymen, he received 
an allotment of land for his people, with the title of 
captain. 

After his death, his brother David succeeded to the 
command ; and the little community continued for some 
time to live in the manner of their ancestors. What 
this manner was may be gathered from the speech of 
Klaas, recorded by Barrow : — 

"We lived very contentedly," said he, in reply to 
questions as to how they should subsist if released from 
servitude — " before the Dutch plunderers molested us ; 
and why should we not do so again if left to ourselves ? 
Has not the Great Master given plenty of grass, roots, 



C MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

and berries, and grasshoppers, for our use? and, till 
the Dutch destroyed them, abundance of wild animals 
to hunt? and will they not return and multiply when 
these destroyers are gone ? " 

During the Dutch domination this free kraal con- 
tinued to exist, notwithstanding the hatred and 
jealousies of the boors ; but in 1810, when the 
English were masters of the colony, it was broken 
up, with circumstances of falsehood, cowardice, and 
atrocity, for which it would not be very easy to find 
a parallel.* The Hottentots were returned to the 
house of bondage ; and the chief, and his immediate 
comrades, were sent to Robben Island, a convict 
settlement, to. work in chains for the remainder of 
their lives. After some years, however, they escaped ; 
and, after a jouri ey of seven hundred miles, made their 
way into CafFerland. 

Poor Stuurman, however, was a father, — two of his 
children were now in the employment (without wages 
or legal contract) of his destroyer, who farmed also the 
lands of his people. He yearned to get back to his 
country — to his race ; and employed for that purpose, 
but in vain, the mediation of a missionary. He became 

* Pringle's Narrative. 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. CI 

desperate, and at length ventured in 1819 to return 
without permission, to wander like a ghost among the 
haunts of memory. He was discovered, seized, im- 
prisoned in Cape Town till 1823, and then transported 
for life as a convict to New South Wales. 

The following letter gives the sequel of his history, 
and shows the exertions made by Pringle in his 
behalf. 

18, Alder manbury, July 1, 1831. 

Sir, — Referring to the conversation which I had with 
you some little time ago respecting David Stuurman, the 
Hottentot chief who was transported to Botany Bay in 1823, 
I beg now to state the particulars of his case subsequently to 
that period, so far as I am acquainted with them. 

In 1825, when I was residing in the Eastern district of 
the Cape Colony, I became acquainted with the details of 
Stuurman's history, chiefly from some of the missionaries at 
Bethelsdorp, who had known him well, and whose account of 
his character and fortunes was confirmed to me from other 
authentic sources. This account I communicated at the 
time to His Majesty's Commissioners of Inquiry then at the 
Cape, and after my return to England, I printed it in a 
magazine conducted by my friend Mr. Thomas Campbell. 

I am not precisely aware whether you became acquainted 
with the case by seeing it in print, — either in that magazine 
or in the notes to my volume entitled " Ephemerides ;" or 
whether it was first brought under your notice by the Rev. 
William Wright : but I have heard that you were so much 
interested by the facts stated (and which have never, so far 



Cll MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

as I am aware, been contradicted in a single point) that you 
immediately wrote to General Darling, the Governor of New 
South Wales, in Stuurman's behalf ; and in consequence of 
this benevolent intervention, I understand he was relieved 
from some of the severities of his condition as a convict, and 
obtained what is called "a ticket of leave," an indulgence which 
gives him the privilege of earning wages for his own benefit. 
This took place, I believe, in 1828 ; and it appears, from 
recent intelligence, that he has remained in the same condi- 
tion since, and has conducted himself well. 

In 1829, a petition was presented to Sir Lowry Cole, by 
David Stuurman's children (two sons and two daughters), 
stating briefly the circumstances of his transportation, and 
praying his Excellency to intercede with his Majesty for the 
release of their father from his sentence of transportation for 
life, and for his restoration to his family and native country. 
What steps Sir Lowry Cole may have taken upon this 
petition I have not been able to ascertain : nor am I aware 
whether the case has ever been formally brought under the 
cognizance of his Majesty^ Home Government, 

As you, Sir, are now about to proceed to New South 
Wales as the Governor of that Colony, I trust I may with- 
out impropriety take the liberty earnestly to solicit, before 
you leave England, your farther favourable attention to 
Stuurman^ case, and the exertion of your personal influence 
to obtain for him a full pardon, in order to effect his restora- 
tion to his children and native land — thus completing the 
good offices of Christian benevolence which yon commenced 
in his behalf during your administration of the Cape 
government. 

I have only to add, if it be an essential point, that a 
private fund be provided for defraying the expense of Stuur- 
mans passage from New South Wales to the Cape, in the 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. Clll 

event of his release through your agency, that I will engage 
to charge myself with the responsibility of raising the 
necessary sum. 

I have the honour to be, &c. 

Thomas Pringle. 

Major- General Bourke, fyc. fyc. fyc. 

In 1 829, by the aid of Saxe Bannister, the author of 
" Humane Policy,'' and the tried friend of the savage 
and therefore helpless races, the four children of David 
Stuurman, as is stated above, had petitioned Sir Lowry 
Cole in favour of their banished father ; but the step 
appears to have been taken in vain. In consequence, 
however, of Pringle's interference, General Bourke now 
besought, and obtained, the consent of the Colonial 
Government to Stuurman's being restored to his country 
and his family. 

A communication from the General after his arrival 
at Sydney, conveyed the result to the exile's friend. 
The last chief of the Hottentots had been released by 
death, in the hospital of the town, in 1830. 

The case of Mary Prince is well known. She was a 
slave woman, brought to this country in 1828 by a person 
called Wood, and by his treatment virtually turned out 
into the streets of London. She wished to go back to 
her husband at Antigua — but not as a slave ; and the 



CIV MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

Anti-Slavery Society tried upon her master— or rather 
her late master, for in England she was free — all the 
force of entreaties, expostulations, offers of pecuniary 
compensation, personal influence, even the influence of 
the Governor of the island, to procure her manumis- 
sion, but in vain. The person was inexorable. The 
helpless woman, to provide for whom no fund existed, 
was received by Pringle into his house, under the name 
of a servant, and was thus supported for two years. 
At the end of that time he published her history, as 
an anti-slavery tract ; which gave rise in Blackwood's 
Magazine to a " criticism," composed of the vulgar and 
silly blackguardism that usually distinguishes, in our 
civilised aged, political partisanship, and confers upon 
the partisan the air of a common street ruffian. He 
prosecuted the publisher, and obtained a verdict ; but 
an action was brought against him by the West India 
body in the name of Wood ; and, owing to the diffi- 
culty and expense of obtaining legal evidence from the 
West Indies, he partly failed in proving the truth of 
his narrative, and was cast in damages. 

Let me add this extract from one of his- letters, 
dated 12th January, 1832. 

The prosecution of Blackwood is not an affair of mine. 
I wished to have replied in print, and I will still do so in a 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PHINGLE. CV 

fourth edition of the tract. The blackguardism I cannot 
reply to, but there are some misrepresentations that require 
to be set right. 

Another slave, a boy called Henry Bains, rendered 
desperate by the brutal treatment he received from his 
master at Grenada, another Wood (like the former, of 
the species of iron-wood), ran away, and, by the 
connivance of the humane sailors, hid himself in a 
vessel about to sail for London. The captain, one 
Gallar, was too honest a man to think of keeping his 
neighbour's chattels, and he would have put him on 
board a vessel bound for Jamaica, had he not received 
from his brother captain an indignant refusal. On 
reaching London, the worthy skipper took home the 
little black boy to his house, and made him fast with a 
rope. Henry, however, contrived to escape ; although 
he soon fell into the hands of the Philistines again. 
This alternation of liberty and slavery took place more 
than once ; but at last he had the happiness to wound 
his leg severely, which was the cause of his being 
introduced to a surgeon. It is hardly necessary to add 
that, from the moment the true state of the case 
became known to an English gentleman of education 
and intelligence, whose mind was untainted by the 
brutalising atmosphere of a slave country, Henry Bains 

h 



CV1 MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

became permanently free. He also was received into 
the family of the beneficent Pringle, and maintained 
there, with the provisions both of the mind and body, 
till his manumission could be arranged. 

He is now doing well as a free man at Grenada, 
having changed his name from Henry Bains to Henry 
Springle (meaning Pringle), and has written several 
letters to his benefactor overflowing with gratitude. 

The cases of Hylias, the Abyssinian boy, Betto 
Douglas, Nancy Morgan, and Ash ton Warner, with 
Pringle's share in them, are sufficiently familiar to 
those readers who take an interest in such subjects. 
The last-mentioned slave died in his arms in the Lon- 
don Hospital, uttering with his last breath some inco- 
herent expressions about the " King of England," and 
"freedom to the slaves." " Requiescat ! " exclaims 
Pringle, "He is now where 'the wicked cease from 
troubling, and the weary are at rest,' and ' the bond- 
man is free from his master.' ' There the prisoners rest 
together ; they hear not the voice of the oppressor.' " 

I must not have it supposed, however, that his 
benevolence was called forth only by the coloured 
races, or, in other words, that it was a hobby. The 
same disposition manifested itself throughout his whole 
intercourse with the world. I well remember that in 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. CV11 

those cases — far too few — in which my own active 
sympathies were awakened, he was the good genius 
of the unfortunate to whom I applied for advice and 
assistance. These were the cases of such of my 
literary brethren as, although more deserving, had 
been less fortunate than myself. His anxious readi- 
ness and considerate delicacy on such occasions are 
beautifully illustrated in the following note. Mine, 
to which it was in answer, was on the case of a young 
and nameless author, whom I discovered, by the light 
of his fancy, like a glow-worm- — in the mire. 

Thursday Evening. 
My dear Ritchie, 

Your note respecting interests me 

much, and I will gladly meet you and him either in your 
house or mine on the very first evening I can command. I 
would have named to-morrow or Saturday, had I not expected 
Morton out on one of these evenings, and I don't know 
which ; I cannot, therefore, invite you and him, as it would 
not do so well to have another person with us. 

But let us fix Monday for you and our new friend to 
come here to dinner at half-past four, or say five precisely. 
I shall probably be at home all that day ; and if you come 
out it will every way suit me best, and I will then fix a day 
to dine at your house in turn. We shall either have a bache- 
lor's dinner, or the womankind instructed to rise early and 
leave us to ourselves. 

Will it be requisite for me to write a formal note to 

h 2 



CV111 MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 



•, to ask him ? Perhaps it may be as well, as he is 



poor and proud — so I enclose one. 

I will meanwhile extort five guineas out of , to 

present him as a retaining fee. 

Yours, dear Ritchie, ever truly, 

Thomas Pringle. 

P.S. — You will of course fix with about your 

mode of travelling, &c. If the weather continue dry, it will 
be a pleasant walk. 

Should you or happen to be engaged on Monday, 

fix Tuesday with him : it will suit me equally well, so far as 
I know. 



The affair of the withdrawal of Coleridge's pension, 
and the delicate and noble letter addressed subsequently 
to the poet by Lord Brougham, are well known; but few 
persons are aware that the restoration of a fund, which 
was the sole support of a man of genius in his last days, 
was mainly the work of Pringle. His attempts were 
made through Colonel Fox, Sir James Mackintosh, 
Rogers, and other influential men ; but for some time 
the result was very doubtful. The following note will 
show the interest taken in the affair by Sir James 
Mackintosh. 

Harrogate, May 26, 3831. 

My dear Mr. Pringle, 

You do me no more than justice in believing that I 
take a strong interest in poor Coleridge's case. I am the 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. C1X 

more sorry for the failure because I had a considerable hand 
in contributing to procure the little pension for him. 

You must be aware that to get a pension or a sinecure 
from the present Ministers is something like trying to pull 
down the moon. I should almost think a subscription more 
promising : but I shall see Rogers next week, or this, and he 
is the best qualified of any one to give advice or assistance in 
such an emergency. 

I am, my dear Sir, very truly yours, 

J. Mackintosh. 

The announcement of success was made to Pringle 
by Rogers in the following note. 

My dear Sir, 

I saw Lord Grey yesterday, and am happy to say 
that the work is done for Coleridge. He is still to receive 
his annuity. To you it must give double pleasure, for it is in 
a great degree your work. 

Yours very truly, 

Samuel Rogers. 
Friday, May 27, 1831. 

I cannot refrain from adding the following note 
from Mr. Hardman, a friend of Coleridge, and a man 
worthy of being so. 

My dear Sir, 

Your obliging note has given me more gratification 
than I have time or words to express, and I shall always con- 
sider that Mr. Coleridge is indebted to you for this important 
benefit, for by you and your friends alone has the impulse been 



CX MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

given. I shall have the pleasure of leaving your note with 
Mr. Coleridge this afternoon, and you will doubtless hear 
from him. 

You will assuredly, my dear Sir, be rewarded in this world, 
and in a better one, for your active benevolence on this occa- 
sion; and you will ever command the esteem and gratitude 
of, my dear Sir, your greatly obliged, 

J. Hardman. 

Saturday. 

Pringle's intimacy with " the old man eloquent " 
was constant and familiar ; and the following note will 
show the opinion entertained by Coleridge of his 
friend. 

My dear Pringle, 

I am indeed very unwell — perhaps worse in spirits 
than in body — so oppressive is the gloom of the fear of a 
relapse. I have barely looked at your kind letter. As I never 
had the slightest thought of any remuneration of this kind, 
if I supposed that in any way, direct or indirect, it came from 
your pocket, I should not hesitate to re- enclose it. But I still 
pray, and heartily trust, I may yet see you to question you on 
this. Till then God bless you. 

Your afflicted but very sincere friend and thorough esteemer, 
with friendly affection, 

S. T. Coleridge. 

Thursday , October 24, 1833. 



CXI 



CHAPTER IV. 

Triumph of the Anti-Slavery Society — Seized with his last Illness 
— Application to Government for an Appointment at the Cape — 
Letter to Lord Brougham — Note from Lord Jeffrey — Ordered by 
his Physicians to a warmer Climate — Fresh Application to Govern- 
ment — Refusal — Unfavourable Symptoms of his Disease — Frame 
of mind towards its termination — Death — Epitaph — Character — 
Situation of his Widow and her Sister — Respectful Suggestion to 
Her Majesty the Queen. 

After so many years of incessant struggles, the 
mighty question was at length settled, and the " aboli- 
tion of slavery" was decreed throughout the British 
dominions. This, at least, was the phrase used at the 
time to express the fact that a great many millions of 
money were presented to the planters, for their kindness 
in permitting us to sink the name of slaves, so insult- 
ing and humiliating to the civilisation of the nineteenth 
century, and to call the coloured victims apprentices. 
There was also a stipulation that on a certain day of 
the year specified, the planters should turn just and 
humane. This was hardly necessary : still it was 



CX11 MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

proper, as a matter of form. Britannia winked at the 
Genius of Slavery as she promulgated the clause ; and 
he, as he assented with a grave leer, put his finger on 
his nose. The occasion was celebrated as a religious 
festival by the good and the devout ; the Anti-Slavery 
Society smoothed its anxious brow, and reduced its 
secretary to half-pay; and the exultation of the half-pay 
secretary burst forth in a song, the burthen of which 
was " Let us be joyful, joyful, joyful !" 

On the 27th of June, 1834, a document was pub- 
lished signed " Thomas Pringie," reciting the Act of 
Abolition, ascribing the honour of the triumph to the 
Almighty, and calling upon all persons interested in the 
cause, to devote the approaching 1st of August — the 
appointed day of manumission— to His service and 
praise. This was the conclusion of his labours. The 
best years of his life, the highest energies of his mind, 
had not been sacrificed in vain. Nature and humanity 
had triumphed ; and he had himself been the organ of 
declaring to the people that, while rejoicing in their 
success, the labourers in the holy cause disclaimed the 
merit, laying down their human pride at the footstool 
of the God of Mercy. 

On the following day he was seized with the illness 
which terminated his life. 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. CX111 

" I had been the medical attendant," says Mr. James 
Kennedy, " of Mr. Pringle's family during several 
years, but up to the commencement of his last illness, 
Mr. Pringle had not required my assistance for any 
severe attack. His symptoms were slight, and usually 
such as are the result of sedentary habits. 

" The first intimation I had of the commencement 
of the disease of which he eventually died, was on the 
28th day of June, 1834 ; when I received a note from 
Mr. Pringle, of which the following is a copy. 



Highgate, Saturday morning. 
Dear Kennedy, 

I must have a little doctoring. Last night, in taking 
some slight supper, a crumb of bread seemed, as we say, to 
go down my wrong throat. This induced a violent coughing, 
and I presume lacerated some small blood-vessel in the lungs, 
for a little blood— not very much— came up : that soon ceased, 
but I feel this morning a sensation as if there was a slight 
abrasion of the part ; so I suppose you had better come out 
and prescribe. 

Truly yours, 

Thomas Pringle, 

" When the above accident took place, Mr. Pringle's 
general health appeared quite good. It had not been 
preceded by any habitual cough, or change in the state 



CXIV MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

of the pulse, nor was languor or debility complained 
of, or other symptoms indicating any constitutional 
tendency to disease. The patient, therefore, very 
naturally concluded that the accidental circumstance 
mentioned in his note was the sole cause of his com- 
plaint ; but, as copious spitting of blood continued to 
recur at intervals during several days, grounds of sus- 
picion were afforded, in a medical point of view, that 
organic disease had commenced in the lungs. Subse- 
quent symptoms justified, at an early period, this serious 
view of the case, for although the bleeding was perma- 
nently checked in less than a fortnight, he began soon 
afterwards to lose flesh and strength, and to suffer from 
frequent cough, &c. — the ordinary signs of consump- 
tion." 

The following letter, written by him a month after 
this attack of illness, describes his condition and pro- 
spects, and brings down the narrative. 

Highgate, July 29, 1834. 
I did not think I should have been so long in replying to 
your most kind letter of the 15 th, but it is only within this 
day or two that I have been permitted to resume the pen 
with some degree of freedom. I am, however, thankful to 
say that I have had no return of alarming symptoms, and 
am, as the doctors tell me, doing extremely well ; only they 
still keep the crutches from me and confine me to the sofa. 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. CXV 

I hope to get out again in about a fortnight, and trust I shall 
experience no permanent bad effects from this attack, as it 
seems to have been entirely accidental, and my lungs appear 
to be otherwise sound. 

In regard to other matters, I am sorry to say that my 
prospects of the future are more than ever dark and clouded. 
I have got within these few days an unfavourable reply from 
Mr. Spring Rice, in regard to my application for an appoint- 
ment at the Cape. He says, that as great reductions are 
now making there, those reduced from the government service 
must have a preferable claim ; so that that prospect seems to 
be shut. Many of the persons who will thus have a pre- 
ference to me, were amongst the vilest tools of Lord Charles 
Somerset's administration. But to have been persecuted by 
a Tory government for maintaining Whig principles, or 
rather the principles of truth and justice, seems, even under 
a Whig administration, to operate rather to one's disad- 
vantage than otherwise. In fact, how can it be otherwise — 
so long as the under secretaries and clerks are still the 
persons who determine most of the Colonial appointments, 
who were put in office by Lord Bathurst, and who, to this 
hour, act as far as they can on the wretched system of his 
administration \ Spring Rice, with the best intentions, coming 
new into office, must necessarily draw his information from 
such prejudiced and polluted sources — and thus things go on 
year after year. 

If I had now a few hundred pounds I would go out to the 
Caffer frontier, buy and stock a farm, and settle myself for 
life in the wilderness. I am tired with the wear and tear of 
town life, and struggling with straitened circumstances for 
ever. Perfect quiet and happiness and leisure is not, I know, 
to be found in this world ; but if the choice must be between 
utter seclusion, and struggling for subsistence by the exhaust- 
ing and precarious wages of literary labour, I have no hesitation 



CXV1 MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

in preferring the latter — if the latter were in my power— 
which unhappily it is not. 

But enough of self. After all, I have no doubt that what 
befals us (if not by our own fault) is ever for the best ; and 
in that belief, and in a firm trust in God's good providence, I 
will endeavour to find consolation. 

In order to explain this allusion to Mr. Spring Rice, 
it is necessary to say that, in anticipation of the 
breaking up of the Anti-Slavery Society, Pringle had 
been long engaged in soliciting an appointment at the 
Cape of Good Hope. In order to explain his views, so 
consistent with his whole history, I copy a letter which 
he addressed upon the subject to Lord Brougham a 
year before. 

Holly Terrace, Highgate, 
August 24, 1833. 

My Lord, 

Mr. Buxton mentioned to me this morning that 
your lordship had expressed to him, in the strongest terms, 
your desire that I should be provided for by some competent 
appointment; but that you were at a loss to know what 
would suit me. Honoured and obliged in no ordinary degree 
by the interest your lordship takes in my welfare, I am thus 
encouraged to address you personally on this point, and I 
shall do so as concisely as I can render compatible with the 
object in view. 

Your lordship is already aware that I have requested some 
honoured friends to solicit for me a civil appointment at the 
Cape of Good Hope. I have directed my views to that 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. CXV11 

colony, partly because I was sensible of the extreme difficulty 
of obtaining any competent provision in England — particu- 
larly for a person like myself, not bred to any of the regular 
professions. But I have thought of the Cape more especially, 
because my former residence there, which brought me inti- 
mately acquainted with the character and condition of the 
various classes of the population, gives me (as I imagine) 
considerable advantages, and emboldens me to cherish the 
hope of rendering my humble services more extensively useful 
to my fellow-men in that quarter of the world, than they 
could probably be anywhere else. 

I am therefore solicitous to obtain the appointment of resi- 
dent Magistrate of the new (and still unnamed) district upon 
the frontier of Cafferland. 

This appointment, should I have the honour to obtain it, 
will, independently of its strictly official duties, bring me into 
that sort of relationship with the native African population, 
which, I flatter myself, would afford most favourable oppor- 
tunities for promoting the interests of humanity and civilisa- 
tion, by the encouragement of general instruction, of infant 
schools, of religious missions, of temperance associations, and 
other sound practical means, for gradually elevating long- 
degraded races of men in the moral and intellectual scale of 
being. 

I shall only further remark, that a resident civil functionary 
has been for some time very urgently wanted in the remote 
district I have referred to ; that, in point of fact, imminent 
peril to the peace of the colony, and manifold acts of cruelty 
and oppression towards the natives, have been the conse- 
quence of its neglect ; that its present state is in entire oppo- 
sition to the recommendation of his Majesty's Commissioners 
of Inquiry seven years ago ; and finally that to these Com- 
missioners (Colonel Colebrooke and Mr. Bigge, both now in 
England) I would desire respectfully to refer his Majesty's 



CXV111 MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

government in regard to my own conduct in that colony 
under very critical circumstances, and my competence gene- 
rally for the important office I have ventured to solicit. 
I have the honour to be, &c. &c. 

Thomas Pringle. 

P.S. — There are no slaves in the district referred to. 

To the Right Hon. the Lord Chancellor, 
fyc. fyc. fyc. 



This application was seconded by Mr. (now Lord) 
Jeffrey, as will be observed by the following note. 

35, Charles-street, Tuesday Evening, 25th June. 

My dear Sir, 

I shall certainly mention you to the Chancellor with every 
recommendation in my power; and shall also confer with 
Mr. Macaulay on the best way of promoting your wishes. 
I am sorry you find it advisable again to seek employment 
as so great a distance. Wherever you are, you may rely on 
the kind remembrance of all who here know you, with as 
much certainty as they will always count on your being en- 
gaged in making men better and happier around you. 

I seldom go out before one o'clock, and shall be glad to 
see you any morning after eleven. 

Believe me always very faithfully yours, 

F. Jeffrey. 

Thomas Pringle, Esq. fyc. fyc. 

This correspondence, however, took place when he 
was in perfect health, and when the result was not a 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. CX1X 

thing of extraordinary importance ; but his removal to 
the Cape was destined very speedily to become an 
affair of life and death. Here I am again able to use 
his own words. 



Letherhead, Surrey (18 miles from London), 
3rd Oct. 1834. 

Not having heard from you since I wrote to you two 
weeks ago, I begin to suspect that I did not give you our 
address here. But whether or not, I must now proceed to 
give you some particulars of my present situation. 

On the 14th or 15th of September, Dr. Clark, a physician 
of great eminence in diseases of the chest, who had been 
called in when my complaint was at its most alarming crisis, 
in the beginning of July, came out to see me ; and after a 
very careful re-examination of the chest, and a full inquiry 
into the state of my general health for some years preceding. 
he gave it as his opinion that 1 could not remain in England 
during the ensuing winter without the greatest risk. He 
therefore urged me to resort without delay to a milder climate. 

I told him that I was utterly without the means, without 
funds, and without income, except what depended on my 
pen. He then proposed my return to the Cape, where he 
knew I had formerly resided; the climate being, he said, 
equally good for my complaint as any of the warmer coun- 
tries of Europe ; and the long voyage through warm latitudes 
being an additional recommendation, as one of the best 
remedies in my case. 

There was thus no choice left me, if I wished to preserve 
my life, but to make a great effort to raise funds for our pas- 
sage ; but after disposing of my little furniture, and settling 



CXX MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

household and other accounts, I saw I should not have one 
shilling remaining— but even be in debt. 

I asked Dr. Clark to send me his opinion in writing (a 
copy of which I enclose you), and I sent copies of it to the 
two leading men of the A. S. society, with whom I have 
always been most intimate — Z. Macaulay, and Buxton, with 
a precise statement of my situation — leaving them to take 
such measures for my assistance as they should judge fitting. 
And never was any thing more affectionate, delicate, and 
generous, than the conduct of these two invaluable friends. 
In less than a week they have raised funds (from among the 
affluent members of the Society) ample for our outfit and 
passage ; and it is intended, I understand, after I am gone, 
to attempt something on a larger scale for my advantage. 
No man in my circumstances could expect greater kindness 
and liberality than this. 

Meanwhile I have sent in a strong appeal to Mr. Spring 
Rice, and through him to the governor, generally soliciting 
a grant of land, and a grant of money to stock it with, in 
consideration of my losses and ill-treatment under Lord 
Charles Somerset. This appeal has been zealously backed 
by Mr. Buxton and by Lord Holland in my behalf, but what 
the result will be I cannot guess. I hope they will now see 
that there will be injustice and disgrace in not doing some- 
thing for me. The Chancellor has been stormed afresh on my 
behalf, and indeed while I have been lounging away the last 
fortnight among the beautiful lanes of Surrey, my zealous 
friends seem to have set every wheel in motion that could be 
turned to acting. 

If through the blessing of God the means employed prove 
successful in obtaining for me the means of establishing 
myself as a settler (sheep-farmer), however humbly at first, 
I have no other intention than to locate myself near the 
Kat River, and to devote the remainder of my days, be they 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. CXX1 

few or many, to the improvement and protection of the 
natives, in such humble manner and degree as a private 
individual may pretend to. This is supposing my health to 
be restored, by the voyage and the climate of South Africa, 
as my physician seems sanguinely to anticipate. 

The new application adverted to above was answered 
as follows : 

Colonial Office, Oct. 23, 1 834.' 
Sir, 

It is With much regret that Mr. Secretary Spring 
Rice acquaints you of his inability to comply with your ap- 
plication for a grant of land at the Cape of Good Hope. 
The rules by which the Secretary of State is guided in the 
disposal of waste lands are very strictly adhered to, and 
scarcely permit under any circumstances a free grant of land : 
in addition to this, it is much doubted whether the Govern- 
ment at the Cape has any to grant, at all fit for agricultural 
purposes, except in the frontier districts : and to show you the 
difficulty of meeting your views, I must only say, that in the 
only instance within these few years past in which the 
Secretary of State thought proper to instruct the Governor 
to assign a grant of land to a particular person, it was found 
impossible to accomplish the object. 

It is equally impossible for Mr. Spring Rice to advance 
you a sum of money to assist you on your return to the 
Cape. 

He will have much pleasure in recommending you to the 
attention of Sir Benjamin D'Urban, who may have it in his 
power to render you assistance, and advance your objects. 
A letter to the Governor will accompany this. 

I have the honour to be your obedient servant, 

Richard Earle, 

Thomas Pringle, Esq. Private Sec. 



CXX11 MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

To this Pringle rejoined as follows : 



6, Portman Street, Portman Square, 
November 4, 1834. 



Your letter of October the 23rd (which reached me 
only a few days ago), written by the direction of Mr. Secre- 
tary Spring Rice, has, I must confess, mortified and disap- 
pointed me not a little, inasmuch as the decision now given is 
far less favourable than that of Earl Bathurst in 1826, who 
declared his willingness to afford me every reasonable encou- 
ragement as a settler. 

The change of circumstances in regard to land may, how- 
ever, possibly account for this, — and I cannot suppose any 
want of favourable disposition. Have the goodness to convey 
to Mr. Secretary Spring Rice my best acknowledgments for 
the letter of recommendation to Sir Benjamin D' Urban. 
I have the honour to be, Sir, 

Your obedient Servant, 
(Signed) Thomas Pringle. 

To Richard Earle^ Esq. 

His friends, knowing as they did the highly favour- 
able sentiments of Lord Brougham, Lord Holland, and 
others, were of course no less surprised than mortified by 
this result. The difficulty, however, of obtaining a pub- 
lic employment of any respectability is proverbial ; and 
there were undoubtedly circumstances, both as con- 
nected with the colony and the individual, which on 
the present occasion increased the difficulty a hundred- 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. CXX111 

fold. The bad health of the applicant was of itself an 
obstacle of no small magnitude : the very urgency and 
necessity of the case seemed to be fatal to its success. 
A gratuitous grant of land, it appears from Mr. Earle's 
communication, was out of the question ; and the only 
other means of rendering the assistance demanded was 
by a donation of money. Whether any fund existed 
from which this could be drawn (without trying anew 
the compensation claim) I cannot say ; but, from what- 
ever cause it occurred, it is much to be regretted that 
the liberal party lost an opportunity of performing a 
kind action which could not have provoked the bad 
feelings even of their enemies, and which would have 
done them infinite credit with the truly good and esti- 
mable classes throughout the country. 

The disappointment does not appear to have pro- 
duced any effect upon his naturally strong mind. He 
prepared for his voyage to the Cape, and actually en- 
gaged a passage for himself, his wife, and her sister. 
But it was not to be. The day of sailing was post- 
poned from time to time ; till at length the severer 
symptoms of the disease manifested themselves, and he 
was advised to abide the issue at home. His work was 
done ; his stewardship was expired ; and the hour had 

come when he was to be called to his account. That 

i2 



CXX1V MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

hour, I most firmly believe, few men have ever been 
better prepared to meet. 

In addition to the other symptoms of his disease, 
diarrhoea now supervened, which his weakened con- 
stitution was unable to resist. The result soon became 
certain ; and, with the same resolution, the same col- 
lectedness of spirit, which he had exhibited as the 
champion of humanity, and the defender of the rights 
of the press, he set himself to prepare for the great 
change. His good deeds, if he had ever prided himself 
upon them at all, he threw off, like a robe fit only for 
the present world ; resting his " sure and certain hope" 
upon the merits of the Saviour. The Bible was his 
companion by day and by night; and, when ex- 
hausted nature sank into slumber, he would start in 
the midst, crying, " Give me my book — I am losing 
time ! " 

" Mingled with deep and lasting regret," says Mr. 
Kennedy, his medical attendant, " for the loss of our 
excellent friend — a feeling common to all who intimately 
knew him — I have some consolatory sources of reflec- 
tion which were not afforded to many. It is not with- 
out even some degree of pleasure that I revert to the 
period that immediately preceded his departure from 
this life. He seemed to have lived and laboured more 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PK1NGLK. CXXV 

for the happiness of others than his own, and his en- 
joyments seemed to commence where those of persons 
who pursue an opposite course appear to terminate. 
Although made quite aware of the near approach of 
death many days before it took place, he maintained 
to his latest hours the greatest cheerfulness and resig- 
nation. His characteristic firmness never for a moment 
deserted him. In a conversation which I had with him 
at this time, he spoke freely of the coming event, as if 
it had been an ordinary topic, ascribing his happy state 
of mind not to any thing that he had himself per- 
formed, but to his religious conviction and hope, based 
on the doctrine of the atonement. 8 In this,' he 
continued, ' I differ from some literary friends, for 
whose persons and talents I have much respect and 
affection, but who, in my opinion, unfortunately over- 
look this, the foundation of Christianity and all true 
religion.' " 

" He was one," says the Rev. J. Macdonald, "in 
whom I felt much interested. He had been a member 
of my church for the last four years, and I had thus an 
opportunity of knowing him intimately ; and there was 
so much advantage to be gained from his conversation, 
that I could not consider the occasional hours I spent 
in his society as otherwise than profitably and plea- 



CXXV1 MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

santly employed. At the same time, he was so totally 
engrossed in the Anti-slavery cause, that child of his 
heart, and he had so much of an habitual reserve in 
regard to matters of personal and experimental reli 
gion, arising partly from the fetters of his peculiar 
connexion, and partly from an honest dread and abhor- 
rence of hypocrisy, that I had not frequently with him 
that free interchange of practical religious sentiment 
which I could have desired. But in his rapid and 
unexpected decline of life, his lamp was trimmed, and 
shone out brightly, for ' there was oil in the vessel 
together with the lamp.' 

" As you are aware, he ailed much during the 
autumn. He was advised to go to the Cape ; and, 
through the benevolent exertions of kind friends, he 
was enabled to make every necessary and comfortable 
provision for the voyage thither, even to the taking and 
paying for his passage ; when, suddenly, it pleased 
God to lay a final arrest on his earthly tabernacle, by 
the hand of a disease which scourged his system 
during three weeks, so as to make his well-known 
visage almost strange to me. I happened to be in 
Scotland when the attack came on, and thus did 
not see him until the last week of his life, but it was 
a rich consolation for me to find the state of mind in 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PR1NGLE. CXXV11 

which he lay. His soul seemed quite detached from 
all earthly things, and quite unwilling to think of 
them. He acknowledged the wisdom, righteousness, 
and grace of the Lord in so chastising him ; and 
seemed happy to trace the various steps of that painful 
yet gracious process by which the Lord had humbled 
him. His strain was thanksgiving. Two nights 
before his death, though reduced to a ghastly skeleton, 
he desired to sing some verses of a psalm with me; 
and on my proposing to substitute a brief exposition 
of the 103rd psalm, as that we usually sing at our 
Communion, I shall never forget the affectingly sweet 
expression with which he assented. 

" He spoke much of Christ as his only hope, and 
seemed to have a peculiar pleasure in whatever I said 
about his glorious righteousness ; and I do firmly 
believe that he fell asleep in the Lord. I held his 
hand as he expired, which he had held out to me, 
with the almost inaudible articulation of ' Farewell ! ' 
There were throbbings, and a little restlessness, but 
no struggles — he gently died." 

" At length," says Mr. Conder, in a memoir too brief 
for what is so excellent*, " At length ' the silver cord 
was loosed.' On the evening of Friday, Dec. 5, he 

* Preface to the last edition of Pringle's Narrative. 



CXXV111 MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

gently passed out of life ; and the friend who held the 
hand that was stretched out to bid him farewell in the 
approach of death, felt nothing but the passive throb of 
the frame from which the spirit had already disengaged 
itself, to return to its Father and Redeemer. Thus 
peacefully, and in the faith of Christ, died this devoted 
and unwearied friend of the slave and the oppressed ; 
one who consecrated his talents to the cause of mercy, 
because he had obtained mercy. His was no mercenary, 
though an official advocacy, of the rights of the African 
race. His heart dictated his acceptance of a post which 
his circumstances rendered a needful provision. No 
gold could have purchased his labours in a cause which 
his conscience disapproved. He lived for others, and 
he died poor, yet having contributed to ' make many 
rich ; * ' having,' in this world, ' nothing, and yet pos- 
sessing all things.' 

" His remains were interred in Bunhill Fields, ground 
consecrated by the remains of the great and good, 
which have during ages accumulated in that wilderness 
of tombs, where a simple stone bears the following just 
and elegant tribute to his memory, written by William 
Kennedy : — 



CXX1X 

&acretr to tfje ittemorj! 

OF 

THOMAS PRINGLE, 

AN HUMBLE DISCIPLE OF CHRIST, 

WHO DEPARTED THIS LIFE THE 5tH DAY OF DECEMBER, 1834, 

IN THE 46TH YEAR OF HIS AGE. 

IN THE WALKS OF BRITISH LITERATURE HE WAS KNOWN 

AS A MAN OF GENIUS : 

IN THE DOMESTIC CIRCLE HE WAS LOVED 

AS AN AFFECTIONATE RELATIVE AND FAITHFUL FRIEND : 

IN THE WIDE SPHERE OF HUMANITY HE WAS REVERED 

AS THE ADVOCATE AND PROTECTOR OF THE OPPRESSED : 

HE LEFT AMONG THE CHILDREN OF THE AFRICAN DESERT 

A MEMORIAL OF HIS PHILANTHROPY ; 

AND BEQUEATHED TO HIS FELLOW-COUNTRYMEN 

AN EXAMPLE OF ENDURING VIRTUE. 

HAVING LIVED TO WITNESS THE CAUSE IN WHICH HE 

HAD ARDENTLY AND ENERGETICALLY LABOURED, TRIUMPH IN THE 

EMANCIPATION OF THE NEGRO, 

HE WAS HIMSELF CALLED FROM THE BONDAGE OF THIS WORLD 

TO THE ENJOYMENT OF ETERNAL LIBERTY, 

THROUGH THE MERITS OF 

HIS REDEEMER. 



CXXX MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PUINGLE. 

The death of Thomas Pringie drew forth an expres- 
sion of affectionate regret in every civilised country in 
the world where the English language is spoken. In 
British India, in America, in Africa, the feeling was 
the same; and to the credit of human nature be it 
related, that even his adversaries joined in lamenting 
when dead the man they had striven against when 
living. The eulogiums pronounced by contemporary 
writers would fill a volume of themselves ; but there is 
one which I must copy, and which, after the manner 
in which I have been compelled to mention the writer's 
name, it gives me unfeigned pleasure to present to the 
public. It is from the pen of Mr. Fairbairn. 

Extract from the " South African Advertiser" dated 1 8th 
March, 1835. 

The admirers 'of worth and genius will learn with regret 
the death of Mr. Thomas Pringie, who expired at his resi- 
dence in Bryanstone-street, Bryanstone-square, London, on 
the 5th of December last, in the 46th year of his age. 

With Mr. Pringie^ reputation as an elegant poet, possess- 
ing strong claims to originality, the world is well acquainted ; 
but his last work, entitled " African Sketches," published only 
a few months previous to his death, gives his name a secure 
place amongst the most intrepid and generous defenders of 
the natural rights of mankind. It is a noble addition to that 
species of literature to which Milton, after he had composed 
the sweetest of his immortal works, looked back with most 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. CXXX1 

satisfaction, and he drew from his efforts in that field the 
high consolation and dauntless courage which supported him 
m his years of blindness and solitude, " when fallen on evil 
days and evil tongues, and compassed round with darkness 
aud with dangers!" 

Of Mr. Pringle's private character it is impossible to speak 
with too much warmth of esteem and affection. An intimate 
acquaintance, and uninterrupted friendship of twenty-six 
years, has left upon the mind of the writer a conviction, that 
Pringle was the most amiable man of genius he ever knew. 
Steady in his attachments, modest, frank, forgiving — we 
know not a quality of the heart that renders talents agree- 
able, and wit safe in social and domestic life, which he did not 
exhibit in the degree most to be desired, whether the stream 
of accidents ran rough or smooth. 

It should be pleasing to his friends, and they are all who 
ever knew him, to know that he died in the faith and hope 
of Christianity ; and those who sorrow most for his loss have 
the best grounds for believing that their separation will not 
be for ever ! 



One of the gentlest yet firmest, one of the humblest 
yet most high-minded of human beings, the character 
of Thomas Pringle was made up of qualities, which 
excite in equal proportions affection and respect. With 
him benevolence was not a weakness, but a principle. 
He did not indulge in doing good ; but his humanity, 
being under the strict control of his judgment, he 
refuted practically the doctrines of that philosophy 
which refers even our best actions to selfishness. He 



CXXX11 MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

was warm and steady in his attachments ; but though 
he would have risked his life for his friend, he would 
not have sacrificed his probity. He was deeply reli- 
gious, but not of those devotees who " crucify their 
countenances." Cheerful, buoyant, and even gay, he 
exemplified his faith only in his actions. Open, gene- 
rous, manly, and sincere, I may address him in the 
words of Charles Lamb, 

" Free from self-seeking, envy, low design, 
I have not found a whiter soul than thine 1" 

In person he was rather under than over the middle 
size, apparently in consequence of his lower limbs 
having been prevented by the accident I have men- 
tioned from acquiring their due development. His body 
was well formed ; his head strikingly intellectual ; and 
his face characterised by an expression of mingled 
sweetness and sagacity, not common in their union. 
He was rather what is termed good-looking than 
strictly handsome ; but his eye, which knew how to 
kindle as well as melt, to upbraid as well as soothe, 
threw such gleams of sentiment over his countenance 
as would have redeemed much more common features. 

How did it happen that engaged as he was, through 
his whole life, in a continued moral struggle, " no 
man (as a critic remarks) ever had fewer enemies, 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. CXXX111 

or descended into the grave with fewer animosi- 
ties?" The explanation is to be found in his sin- 
gleness of heart and purpose, in that whiteness of 
soul which, even when brought into contact with 
impurity, threw off the stains of the world, as if by 
some natural law of repulsion. Perhaps — but on 
this subject I dare not enter — perhaps we may trace 
the steadfastness of his mind to higher causes, to 
nobler principles : perhaps we may account for the 
unity presented in his life, by the fact of his moral 
energies being continually under the direction and 
control of his religious convictions. I am able, at 
least, to give in his own words what seems to have 
been the rule of his conduct. 

"My son, be this thy simple plan : 
Serve God, and love thy neighbour man : 
Forget not, in temptation's hour, 
That Sin lends Sorrow double power ; 
Count life a stage upon thy way, 
And follow Conscience, come what may : 
Alike with heaven and earth sincere, 
With hand, and brow, and bosom clear, 
* Fear God — and know no other fear.' " 

I trust it would be felt as an unpardonable omission 
by the reader, if I closed this chapter without saying 
some words on the present condition and prospects of 
the bereaved widow and her sister. Theirs is no com- 



CXXX1V MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

mon grief, such as may be forgotten in a little time, or 
soothed by the consolations of friends. The wife did 
not merely lose her husband, or the sister her brother. 
At one blow the occupation of their minds was gone ; 
their habits were broken off ; their thoughts were choked 
up in their accustomed channel ; the connexion was 
severed which bound them to the business of the world ; 
for, thinking so long in his thoughts, feeling in his 
feelings, hoping in his hopes, sorrowing in his sorrows, 
living in his life, the earth became to them a new 
country when he died. 

The two ladies at present have an annuity between 
them, purchased chiefly by some anti-slavery friends, 
of twenty pounds a-year. It is a painful and a delicate 
subject, and I cannot dwell upon it : but this is the 
whole worldly fortune of these estimable women. 

At the late meeting of the Anti-Slavery Delegates 
in London, a striking and affecting circumstance oc- 
curred. A want seemed to be felt— an association was 
broken off which had to be looked for. Where was 
that unwearied pen, which had prepared even the 
minutest details of business for examination ? Where 
that ready minister, who had been wont to prompt and 
anticipate their wishes ? The thought of Pringle rose 
in every heart ; and several of the Delegates stood up 



MEMOIKS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. CXXXV 

to pronounce the name of their lost Secretary. The 
widow, too, was mentioned — and the necessity, the 
duty, of caring for her. These words, I trust, will not 
be lost. They will be repeated, I trust, in their own 
homes, in their own social circles, in their own pro- 
vinces, and the words will ripen into deeds. But all 
this is uncertain ; and the very subsistence of the objects 
of our solicitude depends upon a contingency. 

Pringle' s claims were virtually allowed by Earl 
Bathurst ; and they were distinctly admitted by Mr. 
Spring Rice, since he stated the reasons (unconnected 
with the merits of the application) why it was impos- 
sible to give him either a grant of land, or a public 
employment at the Cape. Pringle, however, is now 
no more ; and, setting aside the whole question as it 
related to himself, can it be denied that the widow of 
such a man has still a claim upon the country ? Would 
it not be an act worthy of our young and considerate 
Sovereign — an act pleasing alike to God and man — a 
noble, beautiful and holy act, to bestow a small pension 
upon Mrs. Pringle, to secure the living representative 
of departed worth from those worldly deprivations and 
annoyances, which unalleviated, are calculated to add 
many bitters to the cup of her bereavement ? 



CX XXVI 



CHAPTER V. 

Character of his Works — Narrative of his Residence in Africa — 
First Idea of the Narrative — " Afar in the Desert" — Letter from 
Coleridge respecting this Poem — The Bechnana Boy — His own 
Account of him — His Reputation as a Critic — Correspondence — 
Letters of Scott — Rogers — Coleridge — Hogg — Conclusion. 

A singular and beautiful analogy may be traced 
between the moral and literary character of Thomas 
Pringle. Sometimes brilliant, sometimes striking, and 
always captivating, but less brilliant than pure, less 
striking than useful, less captivating to the fancy than 
wholesome to the heart, his works seem to have had 
for their end the aim of his life — " to make men 
better and happier around him." Even among his 
miscellaneous poems, we look in vain for those ele- 
gant uri substantialities which make up nine-tenths of 
the sum of modern poetry, compensating by their 
prodigious number for the want of individual value. 
He was not of those who haunt the sacred hill, 
merely to chase sunbeams and butterflies. With him, 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. CXXXV11 

every line has its definite object — -every picture its 
moral purpose. 

The greater part of his works probably consist of 
fugitive papers, written while in the service of the Anti- 
Slavery Society ; but those acknowledged by his name, 
and on which his reputation as an author depends, are 
the poems now collected in this volume, and the Narra- 
tive I have so often alluded to of his residence in South 
Africa, 

The " Narrative," although it met with almost uni- 
versal praise, is said, by severe critics, to want con- 
densation : and so they would have said of Robinson 
Crusoe. In fact, one of the greatest merits of this 
work consists in a real, not affected, simplicity, and a 
diffuseness which is not an excess of care, but an over- 
flowing of the heart. Here and there, indeed, there 
are passages of power and beauty, groups and pictures 
which might be studded into the pages of Scott him- 
self; but, mingling with these, come the homely 
details, the familiar explanations, the unimportant 
diaries — the touches of nature, in short, which show us 
that the former are only incidental evidences of genius ? 
occurring unavoidably, and perhaps unconsciously, in a 
plain record of feelings and events. 

The first and best idea of the " Narrative " is given 

k 



CXXXV111 MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

in the following letter to a friend. It is much to be 
regretted that this idea was not fully carried out. 

London, 7, Solly Terrace, Pentonville, 
February 3, 1882. 

I was not a little moved on hearing, a few days ago, of the 

death of our old friend H . I had heard no report of his 

previous illness, nor have I yet learnt any of the details. The 
bare fact only has reached me ; and I now write to inquire of 
you the particulars of his last illness — and any other informa- 
tion you can give respecting my poor old friend and school- 
fellow- — the circumstances in which his family are left, &c. &c. 

This event has awakened many old reminiscences and me- 
lancholy reflections, which I need not enter upon. You can 
guess the colour and current of them. 

Time speeds his ceaseless course — and our early comrades 
drop off one by one. Our brief date is also fixed, and who 
knows that your summons or mine may not be the next ? To 
the ordinary uncertainty of life, is now added the ravage of 
this new pestilence, which has at length, I see, reached your 
city, and may be speedily expected here. Its chief prey 
appears, indeed, to have been hitherto among the destitute and 
the intemperate ; but no one can reasonably consider himself 
secure from its contagion — much less one enfeebled by dys- 
peptic and nervous complaints of long standing — like myself. 
Without feeling any unmanly alarm, I am endeavouring to 
prepare for its approach, by " setting my house in order." I 
must not — and will not, with God's blessing — abandon my post 
of duty ; but I would fain be prepared, both in a temporal 
and spiritual sense, for whatever may befal. And such, my 
dear friend, I am confident, is your habitual endeavour, not 
with reference to this present pest and peril merely ; but 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. CXXX1X 

viewing human life as a wise and religious man should always 
view it, I know you daily join with your dear pretty wife in 
devoutly praying, like our great poet — 

u for grace to use it so, — 
Whether our lot on earth be mean or high, 
Or time be less or more, death soon or slow, — 
As ever in our Great Task-master's eye." 

Poor H 's premature decease has led my thoughts much 

back on my own checkered and changeful life ; and I have 
taken it into my head to write a little sketch of it, in the 
shape of a series of letters to you. " Ah, Tamas ! Tamas — 
vanity and egotism ! " I hear you exclaim. True, dear John, 
there may be vanity and egotism at the bottom — I deny it 
not. But hear me out. 

For six or seven years I have fully intended to write out my 
" Residence in South Africa," as a work, for publication ; but 
somehow or other, its progress has hitherto been constantly 
interrupted by other avocations, public or private, of more im- 
mediate urgency ; and unless I obtain more leisure than I now 
possess, or have any prospect of, I begin to perceive that it 
will never be written, at least as a formal task-work. But if 
I set about it in the shape of a letter every Saturday even- 
ing to my dear and indulgent friend, I think it pro- 
bable that in the course of a few months, should I live so 
long, I may put on paper the cream and substance of what I 
have to tell. And then, should I be cut off soon, like poor 

H , or never find leisure to write my proposed book, you 

may, if it appears advisable, print these letters (with such 
pruning and correction as may be requisite) for the benefit of 
my poor dear Margaret, if she should survive me. Or should 
they not be found of sufficient interest for publication, you can 
bind them up, or get a copy made of them, and send it out to 

k<2 



CXl MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

my relatives at Glen-Lynden, to be preserved among them as 
a record of our first settlement and adventures. 

I propose to commence, however, with my early days ; and 
in regard to that portion, I confess, my object is more ego- 
tistical. I intend all the letters, as I shall write them, to be 
bound up and sent out to my brothers in Africa, as a sort of 
family history ; but I will not deny that I am also vain enough 
to imagine that they may assist you, my dear John, to draw 
up a little sketch of my biography to prefix to my " Poetical 
Remains ;" somewhat in the mode that Ley den's " Remains " 
were dealt with by his cousin, my friend Morton. You see I 
take it for granted that you will outlive me, (as your compa- 
rative youth and unimpaired constitution may reasonably 
warrant me in doing), and that I have solicited you for my 
biographer. At all events, you need not decline the task till 
you see what sort of one it is likely to be. 

Well — my egotism and vanity are fully before you, without 
a shred of drapery. Why should I not be frank and candid 
— at least to you ? You will not misapprehend me so far, as 
to imagine I am such a goose as to think myself an Aonian 
swan. No, dear John, no one knows better than I do the 
real value of my poetical vein. But though I have (as yet at 
least) written but a few pages that deserve to live in the lite- 
rature of my country ; yet I may without presumption, per- 
haps, rank myself among those " Minors " who have indited, 
whether from genius or good luck, a few things which their 
countrymen " would not willingly let die." If I am not pre- 
sumptuous, therefore, in hoping that my poetic trifles may 
survive for a little while with those of Bruce and Logan, and 
Beattie, and Grahame, and Leyden, I may be excused for the 
vanity of anticipating that a brief memoir, such as that of 
Leyden or of Grahame, may be required from some friendly 
pen, to accompany my " Remains." 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. CXli 

The letters I now propose to address to you, will thus serve 
a double or treble purpose. They will supply you with 
authentic materials, out of which to abstract some such brief 
memoir as I have suggested, after I am " gone to my rest." 
They will also furnish (I hope) a series of letters relative to 
the emigration and settlement of myself and party at Glen- 
Lynden, such as may form a book of some public interest ; 
and finally, the letters bound up, will form an acceptable 
volume of MS. memoranda for my relatives in Africa to pre- 
serve and hand down to their children. 

Such, my dear ■, are my views in the epistolary cor- 
respondence which I propose to inflict upon you — over and 
beyond abstracting, if I thereby can, your thoughts and my 
own from dwelling too much on the melancholy circumstances 
which the calamities, public and private, of these eventful 
times thrust on our attention. An hour or so every Saturday 
evening will not interfere with my other duties ; nor will a 
sheet or two once a week, which will require no rejoinder,, 
prove, I hope, unpleasant reading to you. 

The finest and most finished of the longer poetical 
pieces in this collection is, undoubtedly, " Afar in the 
Desert." This is a poem which, once having read, it 
is difficult to forget. It lingers in the ear like one of 
those old melodies that are associated with ideas at once 
of sadness and beauty. It harmonizes with that species 
of depression which partakes not of discontent ; and at 
the moments when we seek to shut out from us the 
external world, it comes in among our thoughts like 
something both kith and kin to them. The following 



Cxlii MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

is Coleridge's opinion, extracted from a letter written 
at the commencement of their acquaintance : — 

It is some four or five months ago since G. Thomp- 
son's " Travels, &c, in Southern Africa," passing its book- 
club course through our house, my eye by accident lighting 
on some verses, I much against my wont was tempted to go 
on, and so I first became acquainted with your " Afar in the 
Desert." Though at that time so busy that I had not looked 
at any of the new books, I was taken so completely posses- 
sion of, that for some days I did little else but read and 
recite your poem, now to this group and now to that ; and 
since that time have either written, or caused to be written, at 
least half a dozen copies, and procured my friend, Mr. Gillman, 
who, and not I, is a member of the book-club, to purchase 
the two volumes for me. The day before yesterday I sent a 
copy in my own hand to my son, the Rev. D. Coleridge, or 
rather to his bride, at Helston, Cornwall, and then disco- 
vered that it had been reprinted in the Athenceum ; with the 
omission of about four, or at the utmost of six lines. I do 
not hesitate to declare it, among the two or three most per- 
fect lyric poems in our language. " Prsecepitandus est liber 
Spiritus," says the critic ; and you have thoroughly fulfilled 
the prescript. 

The "Bechuana Boy" is not only a beautiful poem, 
but a fit illustration of the benevolent character of the 
poet. In addition to the note at the end, I present the 
reader with the following interesting extract from one 
of his letters. I have before me also an outline of the 
plan he proposed to himself in writing the memoir of 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. CXliii 

the poor boy ; but it would not be sufficiently intelli- 
gible to persons unacquainted with the story. 



London, Aug. 29, 1829. 

My deaii , 

I am not a little pleased that you like my " Bechuana 
Boy." Your own and your mother's tears are tributes which 
I highly prize ; not from any particular vanity in regard to 
this little piece, but because it satisfies me that my aim to attain 
the simple language of truth and nature has not been entirely 
unsuccessful. Condensation and simplicity are now my great 
aims in any poetical attempts, for without these I am satis- 
fied that nothing I may write will live— or deserve to live — 
and many of my early pieces are very deficient, especially in 
the former of these qualities. The poor dear boy, whose 
history suggested those verses, was received by me as a little 
servant for Mrs. P., to whom he speedily became most affec- 
tionately attached ; but as his intellect and disposition 
unfolded themselves, he exhibited so much amiable and 
excellent feeling, and good sense and delicacy, that he became 
to us rather a child than a menial attendant. He accompa- 
nied us to England, and we began to think of giving him 
such education as might eventually enable him perhaps to 
return to his native land in the capacity of a missionary or 
teacher — for which he manifested both the wish and the capa- 
city ; but, poor fellow ! after he had been about eighteen 
months in England he was seized with a pulmonary complaint, 
which carried him (I feel assured) to a better world, for he 
became, to the extent of his knowledge, a most exemplary 
Christian ; and his death-bed was a scene such as is seldom 
witnessed for child-like and heavenly innocence. It was a 
very severe stroke to Mrs. P., who truly loved him as " her 



CXIiv MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

own ; " but the remembrance was hallowed and soothed by 
the quiet dove-light beauty of his decease. He was still very 
young when he died, apparently not above eleven, or at most 
twelve, years of age. He did not know his own age, and we 
could only guess at it from his appearance. Marossi was his 
father's name, he said. His own (by which he was baptised 
in his last illness) was Hinza. I have retained the former, 
because I have not adhered strictly to his real story in every 
point, and have represented him as rather older than he was, 
and capable of more deep feeling and reflection than he 
appeared to possess when he first came under my charge, 
though not more than what he had attained before he died. 
The destruction of his tribe and kindred, and his being sold 
to a boor, &c, are all as he related ; but the spring-bok, 
and his mode of joining us, are poetical licenses. His expres- 
sion, when we took him into our waggon, " I am alone in the 
world, 11 was, however, strictly true. Mrs. P. will tell you 
a thousand interesting traits and anecdotes of him, when you 
see her. We have also a very good portrait of him, taken by 
a lady who was fond of him. Perhaps I may some day add 
a second part to the poem, or write a little biographical 
sketch of him in prose, when I can command a little leisure. 
But my poems are generally begun from accidental impulse 
rather than any distinct plan, as was the case in this instance; 
and whether I might make the latter part of this little 
history agreeably interesting may be questionable. So much 
for poor Hinza Marossi. He was altogether a most interest- 
ing child. 

The poems of Pringle are characterised, in general, 
rather by elegance than strength ; but there are some 
among them of such power and spirit as would seem to 
prove, that the natural force of his genius was con- 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. Cxlv 

trolled by the gentleness of his mind. This is more 
particularly observable in the pieces written in Africa. 
Not a few of these will continue to fascinate the popular 
ear in our southern colony, as long as the English lan- 
guage is known at the " Cape of Storms." 

In criticism, and more especially poetical criticism, 
his judgment was sound, though perhaps somewhat 
fastidious. He, in fact, enjoyed a reputation in this way; 
and Dr. M'Crie, the biographer of John Knox, in a 
letter now before me, is perfectly correct in saying, that 
" he was as much esteemed by literary men for the cor- 
rectness and elegance of his taste, as he was beloved by 
all his friends for the amiableness of his disposition and 
his unassuming manners." This reputation, however — 
so complete in him was the ascendancy of the moral 
man — was due, in some measure, to the uprightness of 
his character ; for the partiality even of friendship never 
interfered with the honesty of his decisions. The 
London publishers were not insensible to so rare a merit 
in a critic ; and I have known more than one of the 
most eminent among them besieging him for his opinion 
of a manuscript, and requesting him to name his own 
terms. 

His correspondence with literary men — and those of 
the highest rank — was very extensive ; and I observe 



CXlvi MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

throughout the letters he received a constant mingling 
of feelings of personal regard, even in the matters of 
business. The following letter from Scott will be 
found interesting : — 

My dear Mr. Pringle, 

I have your letter received two or three 
weeks since, which I could not answer immediately, both 
because I was busily employed about putting my things in 
order to leave Edinburgh, very possibly (as a resident) for 
ever. Besides, till I came here I was uncertain whether 
I had a copy of Lady Anne Lindsay's beautiful ballad left 
at my disposal, and am now happy, by Sir Francis Freeling's 
kindness, to put one at your disposal. I thought once of 
sending you Lady Anne's entire letter, which is extremely 
interesting, but I think it has rather too much private 
business in it, for the present at least. You are, so far as 
I am concerned, quite at liberty to republish the tract, as 
I know no one who can object to your doing so, the ingenious 
authoress being no more, and the Bannatyne edition being 
published by her own consent and desire. I would advise 
you to copy the tract rather than send it to press, for the 
Bannatyne books are RRRR. I only show them like wild 
beasts through a grate, so much am I afraid of what is 
technically called condiddling . 

I am happy in the opportunity which has occurred of 
affording you any satisfaction in however trifling a matter ; 
being, dear Mr. Pringle, 

Your most Obedient Servant, 

Walter Scott. 
Abbotsford, l&h July. 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. CXlvi 

His correspondence with Rogers commences with a 
note, from which the following is an extract : — 

" Pray accept my best thanks for a volume of genuine 
poetry. Much of the imagery is as new as it is beautiful ; 
and I cannot say how highly we should think ourselves in- 
debted to you for such an importation. " 

The letters of Coleridge are valuable, but too long 
for insertion here. They confirm, in a very remarkable 
manner, the statement I have made regarding the per- 
sonal influence exerted by Pringle iri the Anti-Slavery 
question. It was he who turned into this channel the 
thoughts of his distinguished friend, and awakened an 
enthusiasm which was always found so infectious by 
the throng of listeners around him. 

I can now only afford space for an early letter of 
the Ettrick Shepherd. 

Eltrive Lake, August 21st, 1818. 

Dear Pringle, 

I received the parcel with your kind letter, 
and am grieved that you should have given me so much, 
as these books will all come against you some day, and cost 
you money ; and the little that I did for the Mag. was not 
only out of pure friendship to you, but in fact as some 
acknowledgment for more valuable, though perhaps less 
lucrative, favours of the same nature. I shall, however, keep 
the books as a memorial of an intimacy which casualties have 



CXlviii MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PRINGLE. 

marred, without, I hope, affecting the hearts of either party, 
or in the least having the power to obliterate. 

I am sorry to say that my hands have not been altogether 
clean of this literary persecution that has been raised against 
you and your friend ; for though in one single instance only, 
yet I have been as it were the beginner of the whole mischief. 
I expected retaliation of the same nature, and to acknow- 
ledge it to you, and crack over it as the editors of the 
Courier and Morning Chronicle do. But seeing that matters 
took a different turn, I have done no more in the matter. 

I have indeed been a good deal irritated at some things 
that have taken place of late — the stopping of Gray's review, 
the lawsuit, and the unmerited prejudice that Constable has 
taken against me, but in nothing so much as the illiberal 
awards of Lord Alloa, and indeed the stupidity of that whole 
process. The author of that article, I can prove, knew not 
that such a man as J. Graham Dalziel existed, and in fact 
he was no more alluded to in the part litigated than you 
were. But the gig is just passing that is to carry this. 
Adieu, dear Pringle, and believe me, Yours ever, 

James Hogg. 

His poems were first collected in 1828, and published 
with the modest title of "Ephemerides ;" and in 1834, 
those relating to South Africa were reprinted in a 
volume, entitled " African Sketches." In that volume 
the "Narrative" of his residence in Africa appeared 
for the first time ; and was reprinted, after the author's 
death, in a separate form, prefaced by a brief memoir 
from the elegant pen of Mr. Conder. 



MEMOIRS OF THOMAS PftlNGLE. Cxlix 

I have now finished my labour of love. The result 
may appear to a stranger to be rather a eulogium than 
a memoir, and yet nevertheless it is a faithful record 
of facts ; and the opinions I have expressed, so far from 
being peculiar to myself, are entertained by every one 
who had the happiness of knowing intimately my ex- 
cellent and beloved friend. 



POEMS 



AFRICAN SKETCHES. 



Rude Rymes, the which a rustic Muse did weave 
In salvadge soyl, far from Parnasso Mount, 
And roughly wrought in an vnlearned loome. 

Spenser. 

Avia Pieridum peragro, loca nullius ante 
Trita solo : juvat integros accedere fontes, 
Atque haurire ; juvatque novos decerpere flores. 

Lucret. 



SIR WALTER SCOTT. 



FROM DESERTS WILD AND MANY A PATHLESS WOOD 
OF SAVAGE CLIMES WHERE I HAVE WANDERED LONG, 
WHOSE HILLS AND STREAMS ARE YET UNGRACED BY SONG, 
I BRING, ILLUSTRIOUS FRIEND, THIS GARLAND RUDE : 
THE OFFERING, THOUGH UNCOUTH, IN KINDLY MOOD 
THOU WILT REGARD, IF HAPLY THERE SHOULD BE, 
'MONG MEANER THINGS, THE FLOWER SIMPLICITY, 
FRESH FROM COY NATURE'S VIRGIN SOLITUDE. 
ACCEPT THIS FRAIL MEMORIAL, HONOURED SCOTT, 
OF FAVOURED INTERCOURSE IN FORMER DAY — 

OF WORDS OF KINDNESS I HAVE NE'ER FORGOT 

OF ACTS OF FRIENDSHIP I CAN NE'ER REPAY. 

FOR I HAVE FOUND (AND WHEREFORE SAY IT NOT ?) 

THE MINSTREL'S HEART AS NOBLE AS HIS LAY. 



January, 1828. 



THE BECHUANA BOY. 



I sat at noontide in my tent, 

And looked across the Desert dun, 
Beneath the cloudless firmament 

Far gleaming in the sun, 
When from the bosom of the waste 
A swarthy Stripling came in haste, 
With foot unshod and naked limb ; 
And a tame springbok followed him. 

With open aspect, frank yet bland, 

And with a modest mien he stood, 
Caressing with a gentle hand 

That beast of gentle brood ; 
Then, meekly gazing in my face, 
Said in the language of his race, 
With smiling look yet pensive tone, 
; Stranger — Fra in the world alone ' ! " 
b 2 



THE BECHUANA BOY. 

" Poor boy !" I said, " thy native home 
Lies far beyond the Storinberg blue : 
Why hast thou left it, boy ! to roam 

This desolate Karroo 2 \ " 
His face grew sadder while I spoke ; 
The smile forsook it ; and he broke 
Short silence with a sob-like sigh, 
And told his hapless history. 

" I have no home !" replied the boy : 

" The Bergenaars 3 — by night they came, 
And raised their wolfish howl of joy, 

While o'er our huts the flame 
Resistless rushed ; and aye their yell 
Pealed louder as our warriors fell 
In helpless heaps beneath their shot : 
— One living man they left us not ! 

" The slaughter o'er, they gave the slain 
To feast the foul-beaked birds of prey ; 
And, with our herds, across the plain 

They hurried us away — 
The widowed mothers and their brood. 
Oft, in despair, for drink and food 
"We vainly cried : they heeded not, 
But with sharp lash the captive smote. 

" Three days we tracked that dreary wild, 
Where thirst and anguish pressed us sore ; 
And many a mother and her child 

Lay down to rise no more. 
Behind us, on the desert brown, 
We saw the vultures swooping down : 
And heard, as the grim night was falling, 
The wolf to his gorged comrade calling. 



THE BECHUANA BOY. 

" At length was heard a river sounding 
'Midst that dry and dismal land, 
And, like a troop of wild deer bounding 

We hurried to its strand — 
Among the maddened cattle rushing ; 
The crowd behind still forward pushing, 
Till in the flood our limbs were drenched, 
And the fierce rage of thirst was quenched. 

" Hoarse-roaring, dark, the broad Gareep 4 
In turbid streams was sweeping fast, 
Huge sea-cows 5 in its eddies deep 
Loud snorting as we passed ; 
But that relentless robber-clan 
Right through those waters wild and wan 
Drove on like sheep our wearied band : 
— Some never reached the farther strand. 

" All shivering from the foaming flood, 
We stood upon the stranger's ground, 
When, with proud looks and gestures rude, 

The White Men gathered round : 
And there, like cattle from the fold, 
By Christians we were bought and sold, 
. 'Midst laughter loud and looks of scorn — 
And roughly from each other torn. 

" My Mother's scream, so long and shrill, 
My little Sister's wailing cry, 
(In dreams I often hear them still !) 

Rose wildly to the sky. 
A tiger's heart came to me then, 
And fiercely on those ruthless men 
I sprang. — Alas ! dashed on the sand, 
Bleeding, they bound me foot and hand. 



THE BECHUANA BOY, 

" Away — away on prancing steeds 

The stout man-stealers blithely go, 
Through long low valleys fringed with reeds, 

O'er mountains capped with snow, 
Each with his captive, far and fast ; 
Until yon rock-bound ridge we passed, 
And distant stripes of cultured soil 
Bespoke the land of tears and toil. 

"And tears and toil have been my lot 

Since I the White Man's thrall became, 
And sorer griefs I wish forgot — 

Harsh blows, and scorn, and shame ! 
Oh, Englishman ! thou ne'er canst know 
The injured bondman's bitter woe, 
When round his breast, like scorpions, cling 
Black thoughts that madden while they sting 

" Yet this hard fate I might have borne, 
And taught in time my soul to bend, 
Had my sad yearning heart forlorn 

But found a single friend : 
My race extinct or far removed, 
The Boor's rough brood I could have loved ; 
But each to whom my bosom turned 
Even like a hound the black boy spurned. 

" While, friendless thus, my master's flocks 
I tended on the upland waste, 
It chanced this fawn leapt from the rocks, 

By wolfish wild-dogs chased 6 : 
I rescued it, though wounded sore 
And dabbled in its mother's gore : 
And nursed it in a cavern wild, 
Until it loved me like a child, 



THE BECHUANA BOY. 

"' Gently I nursed it ; for I thought 
(Its hapless fate so like to mine) 
By good Utiko 7 it was brought 

To bid me not repine, — 
Since in this world of wrong and ill 
One creature lived that loved me still, 
Although its dark and dazzling eye 
Beamed not with human sympathy. 

" Thus lived I, a lone orphan lad, 

My task the proud Boor's flocks to tend ; 
And this poor fawn was all I had 

To love, or call my friend ; 
When suddenly, with haughty look 
And taunting words, that tyrant took 
My playmate for his pampered boy, 
Who envied me my only joy. 

" High swelled my heart ! — But when the star 
Of midnight gleamed, I softly led 
My bounding favourite forth, and far 

Into the Desert fled. 
And here, from human kind exiled, 
Three moons on roots and berries wild 
I've fared ; and braved the beasts of prey, 
To 'scape from spoilers worse than they. 

" But yester morn a Bushman brought 
The tidings that thy tents were near ; 
And now with hasty foot I've sought 

Thy presence, void of fear ; 
Because they say, O English Chief, 
Thou scornest not the Captive's grief : 
Then let me serve thee, as thine own — 
For I am in the world alone ! " 



AFAR IN THE DESERT. 



Such was Marossi's touching tale. 

Our breasts they were not made of stone ; 
His words, his winning looks prevail — 

We took him for ' our own/ 
And One, with woman's gentle art, 
Unlocked the fountains of his heart ; 
And love gushed forth — till he became 
Her Child in every thing but name. 



AFAR IN THE DESERT. 

Afar in the Desert I love to ride, 
With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side : 
When the sorrows of life the soul o'ercast, 
And, sick of the Present, I cling to the Past ; 
When the eye is suffused with regretful tears, 
From the fond recollections of former years ; 
And shadows of things that have long since fled 
Flit over the brain, like the ghosts of the dead : 
Bright visions of glory — that vanished too soon ; 
Day-dreams — that departed ere manhood's noon ; 
Attachments— by fate or by falsehood reft ; 
Companions of early days — lost or left ; 
And my Native Land — whose magical name 
Thrills to the heart like electric flame ; 
The home of my childhood ; the haunts of my prime ; 
All the passions and scenes of that rapturous time 
When the feelings were young and the world was new, 
Like the fresh bowers of Eden unfolding to view ; 
All — all now forsaken — forgotten— foregone ! 
And I — a lone exile remembered of none — 



AFAR IN THE DESERT. 



My high aims abandoned, —my good acts undone, — 
Aweary of all that is under the sun, — 
With that sadness of heart which no stranger may scan, 
I fly to the Desert afar from man ! 

Afar in the Desert I love to ride, 
With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side : 
When the wild turmoil of this wearisome life, 
With its scenes of oppression, corruption, and strife— 
The proud man's frown, and the base man's fear, — . 
The scorner s laugh, and the sufferer's tear, — 
And malice, and meanness, and falsehood, and folly, 
Dispose me to musing and dark melancholy ; 
When my bosom is full, and my thoughts are high, 
And my soul is sick with the bondman's sigh — - 
Oh ! then there is freedom, and joy, and pride, 
Afar in the Desert alone to ride ! 
There is rapture to vault on the champing steed, 
And to bound away with the eagle's speed, 
With the death-fraught firelock in my hand — ■ 
The only law of the Desert Land ! 

Afar in. the Desert I love to ride, 
With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side : 
Away — away from the dwellings of men, 
By the wild deer's haunt, by the buffalo's glen ; 
By valleys remote where the oribi plays, 
Where the gnu, the gazelle, and the hartebeest graze 8 , 
And the kudu and eland unhunted recline 
By the skirts of grey forests o'erhung with wild-vines; 
Where the elephant browses at peace in his wood, 
And the river-horse gambols unscared in the flood, 
And the mighty rhinoceros wallows at will 
fa the fen where the wild-ass is drinking his fill. 



10 AFAK IN THE DESERT. 

Afar in the Desert I love to ride, 
With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side : 
O'er the brown Karroo, where the bleating cry 
Of the springbok's fawn sounds plaintively ; 
And the timorous quagga's 10 shrill whistling neigh 
Is heard by the fountain at twilight grey ; 
Where the zebra wantonly tosses his mane, 
With wild hoof scouring the desolate plain ; 
And the fleet-footed ostrich over the waste 
Speeds like a horseman who travels in haste, 
Hieing away to the home of her rest, 
Where she and her mate have scooped their nest, 
Far hid from the pitiless plunderer's view 
In the pathless depths of the parched Karroo 11 . 

Afar in the Desert I love to ride, 
With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side : 
Away — away — in the Wilderness vast n, 
Where the White Man's foot hath never passed, 
And the quivered Coranna or Bechuan 
Hath rarely crossed with his roving clan : 
A region of emptiness, howling and drear, 
Which Man hath abandoned from famine and fear ; 
Which the snake and the lizard inhabit alone, 
With the twilight bat from the yawning stone ; 
Where grass, nor herb, nor shrub takes root, 
Save poisonous thorns that pierce the foot ; 
And the bitter-melon 13 , for food and drink, 
Is the pilgrim's fare by the salt lake's brink 14 : 
A region of drought, where no river glides, 
Nor rippling brook with osiered sides ; 
Where sedgy pool, nor bubbling fount, 
Nor tree, nor cloud, nor misty mount, 
Appears, to refresh the aching eye : 
But the barren earth and the burning sky, 



SONG OF THE WILD BUSHMAN. 11 

And the blank horizon, round and round, 
Spread — void of living sight or sound. 

And here, while the night-winds round me sigh, 
And the stars burn bright in the midnight sky, 
As I sit apart by the desert stone, 
Like Elijah at Horeb's cave alone, 
' A still small voice' comes through the wild 
(Like a Father consoling his fretful Child), 
Which banishes bitterness, wrath, and fear,— 
Saying — Man is distant, but God is near ! 



SONG OF THE WILD BUSHMAN. 



Let the proud White Man boast his flocks. 

And fields of foodful grain ; 
My home is 'mid the mountain rocks, 

The Desert my domain 15 . 
I plant no herbs nor pleasant fruits, 

I toil not for my cheer ; 
The Desert yields me juicy roots, 

And herds of bounding deer. 

The countless springboks are my flock, 

Spread o'er the unbounded plain 16 ; 
The buffalo bendeth to my yoke, 

The wild-horse to my rein l7 ; 
My yoke is the quivering assagai, 

My rein the tough bow-string ; 
My bridle curb is a slender barb — 

Yet it quells the forest -king. 



12 THE CORANNA. 

The crested adder honoureth me, 

And yields at my command 
His poison -bag, like the honey-bee, 

When I seize him on the sand. 
Yea, even the wasting locust-swarm, 

Which mighty nations dread, 
To me nor terror brings nor harm — 

For I make of them my bread 18 . 

Thus I am lord of the Desert Land, 

And I will not leave my bounds, 
To crouch beneath the Christian's hand, 

And kennel with his hounds : 
To be a hound, and watch the flocks, 

For the cruel White Man's gain — 
No ! the brown Serpent of the Rocks 

His den doth yet retain ; 
And none who there his sting provokes. 

Shall find its poison vain ! 



THE CORANNA. 



Fast by his wild resounding River 
The listless Cdran lingers ever 19 ; 
Still drives his heifers forth to feed, 
Soothed by the gorrah's humming reed 
A rover still unchecked will range, 
As humour calls, or seasons change ; 
His tent of mats and leathern gear 
All packed upon the patient steer. 
1 Mid all his wanderings hating toil, 
He never tills the stubborn soil ; 



THE KOSA. 13 

But on the milky dams relies, 

And what spontaneous earth supplies. 

Or, should long-parching droughts prevail, 

And milk, and bulbs, and locusts fail, 

He lays him down to sleep away 

In languid trance the weary day ; 

Oft as he feels gaunt hunger's stound *, 

Still tightening famine's girdle 21 round ; 

Lulled by the sound of the Gareep, 

Beneath the willows murmuring deep : 

Till thunder-clouds, surcharged with rain, 

Pour verdure o'er the panting plain ; 

And call the famished Dreamer from his trance, 

To feast on milk and game, and wake the moon-light dance. 



THE KOSA. 



The free-born Kosa 22 still doth hold 
The fields his fathers held of old ; 
With club and spear, in jocund ranks, 
Still hunts the elk by Chumi's banks : 
By Keisi's meads his herds are lowing ; 
On Debe's slopes his gardens glowing, 
Where laughing maids at sunset roam, 
To bear the juicy melons home : 
And striplings from Kalumna's wood 
Bring wild grapes and the pigeon's brood, 
With fragrant hoard of honey-bee 
Rifled from the hollow tree 23 : 

* Stound — a sharp pang, a shooting pain. 

Spenser. — Burns. 



14 THE KOSA. 

And herdsmen shout from rock to rock ; 
And through the glen the hamlets smoke : 
And children gambol round the kraal, 
To greet their sires at evening-fall : 
And matrons sweep the cabin floor, 
And spread the mat beside the door, 
And with dry faggots wake the flame 
To dress the wearied huntsman's game. 

Bright gleams the fire : its ruddy blaze 
On many a dusky visage plays. 
On forked twigs the game is drest ; 
The neighbours share the simple feast : 
The honey-mead, the millet-ale 24 , 
Flow round — and flow the jest and tale ; 
Wild legends of the ancient day, 
Of hunting feat, of warlike fray ; 
And now come smiles, and now come sighs, 
As mirth and grief alternate rise. 
Or should a sterner strain awake, 
Like sudden flame in summer brake, 
Bursts fiercely forth in battle song 
The tale of Amakdsa's wrong ; 
Throbs every warrior bosom high, 
With lightning flashes every eye, 
And, in wild cadence, rings the sound 
Of barbed javelins clashing round. 

But lo, like a broad shield on high, 
The moon gleams in the midnight sky. 
'Tis time fco part : the watch-dog's bay 
Beside the folds has died away. 
"Tis time to rest : the mat is spread, 
The hardy hunter's simple bed : 
His wife her dreaming infant hushes 
On the low cabin's couch of rushes ; 



EVENING K AMBLES. 15 

Softly he draws its door of hide, 
And, stretched by his Guluwi's side 25 , 
Sleeps soundly till the peep of dawn 
Wakes on the hills the dappled fawn ; 
Then forth again he gaily bounds, 
With club and spear and questing hounds. 



EVENING RAMBLES. 



The sultry summer-noon is past ; 
And mellow Evening comes at last. 
With a low and languid breeze 
Fanning the mimosa trees, 
That cluster o'er the yellow vale, 
And oft perfume the panting gale 
With fragrance faint : it seems to tell 
Of primrose -tufts in Scottish dell, 
Peeping forth in tender spring 
When the blithe lark begins to sing. 

But soon, amidst our Lybian vale, 
Such soothing recollections fail ; 
Soon we raise the eye to range 
O'er prospects wild, grotesque, and strange ; 
Sterile mountains, rough and steep, 
That bound abrupt the valley deep, 
Heaving to the clear blue sky 
Their ribs of granite bare and dry, 
And ridges, by the torrents worn, 
Thinly streaked with scraggy thorn, 
Which fringes Nature's savage dress, 
Yet scarce relieves her nakedness. 



16 



EVENING RAMBLES. 



But where the Vale winds deep below, 
The landscape hath a warmer glow : 
There the spekboom 26 spreads its bowers 
Of light green leaves and lilac flowers ; 
And the aloe rears her crimson crest, 
Like stately queen for gala drest ; 
And the bright-blossomed bean- tree 27 shakes 
Its coral tufts above the brakes, 
Brilliant as the glancing plumes 
Of sugar birds 28 among its blooms, 
With the deep-green verdure blending 
In the stream of light descending. 

And now, along the grassy meads, 
Where the skipping reebok 29 feeds, 
Let me through the mazes rove 
Of the light acacia grove ; 
Now while yet the honey-bee 
Hums around the blossomed tree ; 
And the turtles softly chide, 
Wooingly, on every side ; 
And the clucking pheasant calls 
To his mate at intervals ; 
And the duiker 30 at my tread 
Sudden lifts his startled head, 
Then dives affrighted in the brake, 
Like wild-duck in the reedy lake. 

My wonted seat receives me now — 
This cliff with myrtle -tufted brow, 
Towering high o'er grove and stream, 
As if to greet the parting gleam. 
With shattered rocks besprinkled o'er, 
Behind ascends the mountain hoar, 



EVENING RAMBLES. 

Whose crest overhangs the Bushman's Cave 31 , 
(His fortress once, and now his grave,) 
Where the grim satyr- faced baboon s« 
Sits gibbering to the rising moon, 
Or chides with hoarse and angry cry 
The herdsman as he wanders by. 

Spread out below in sun and shade, 
The shaggy Glen lies full displayed — 
Its sheltered nooks, its sylvan bowers, 
Its meadows flushed with purple flowers ; 
And through it like a dragon spread, 
I trace the river's tortuous bed. 
Lo there the Chaldee-willow weeps, 
Drooping o'er the headlong steeps, 
Where the torrent in his wrath 
Hath rifted him a rugged path, 
Like fissure cleft by earthquake's shock, 
Through mead and jungle, mound and rock. 
But the swoln water's wasteful sway, 
Like tyrant's rage, hath passed away, 
And left the ravage of its course 
Memorial of its frantic force. 
—Now o'er its shrunk and slimy bed 
Rank weeds and withered wrack are spread, 
With the faint rill just oozing through, 
And vanishing again from view ; 
Save where the guana's 33 glassy pool 
Holds to some cliff its mirror cool, 
Girt by the palmite's leafy screen 34 , 
Or graceful rock-ash, tall and green, 
Whose slender sprays above the flood 
Suspend the loxia's callow brood 
In cradle- nests 35 , with porch below, 
Secure from winged or creeping foe — 



17 



18 



EVENING RAMBLES. 

Weasel or hawk or writhing snake ; 
Light swinging, as the breezes wake, 
Like the ripe fruit we love to see 
Upon the rich pomegranate-tree. 

But lo, the sun's descending car 
Sinks o'er Moimt-Dunion's peaks afar ; 
And now along the dusky vale 
The homeward herds and flocks I hail, 
Returning from their pastures dry 
Amid the stony uplands high. 
First, the brown Herder with his flock 
Comes winding round my hermit-rock : 
His mien and gait and vesture tell, 
No shepherd he from Scottish fell ; 
For crook the guardian gun he bears, 
For plaid the sheep-skin mantle wears ; 
Sauntering languidly along ; 
Nor flute has he, nor merry song, 
Nor book, nor tale, nor rustic lay, 
To cheer him through his listless day. 
His look is dull, his soul is dark ; 
He feels not hope's electric spark ; 
But, born the White Man's servile thrall, 
Knows that he cannot lower fall 36 . 

Next the stout Neat-herd passes by, 
With bolder step and blither eye ; 
Humming low his tuneless song, 
Or whistling to the horned throng. 
From the destroying foeman fled, 
He serves the Colonist for bread : 
Yet this poor heathen Bechuan 
Bears on his brow the port of man ; 
A naked, homeless exile he — 
But not debased by Slavery 37 . 



EVENING KAMBLES. 

Now, wizard-like, slow Twilight sails 
With soundless wing adown the vales, 
Waving with his shadowy rod 
The owl and bat to come abroad, 
With things that hate the garish sun, 
To frolic now when day is done. 
Now along the meadows damp 
The enamoured fire -fly lights his lamp ; 
Link-boy he of woodland green 
To light fair Avon's Elfin Queen ; 
Here, I ween, more wont to shine 
To light the thievish porcupine, 
Plundering my melon-bed, — 
Or villain lynx, whose stealthy tread 
Rouses not the wakeful hound 
As he creeps the folds around. 

But lo ! the night-bird's boding scream 
Breaks abrupt my twilight dream ; 
And warns me it is time to haste 
My homeward walk across the waste, 
Lest my rash tread provoke the wrath 
Of adder coiled upon the path 38 , 
Or tempt the lion from the wood, 
That soon will prowl athirst for blood. 
— Thus, murmuring my thoughtful strain, 
' I seek our wattled cot again. 

Glen-Lynden, 1822. 



19 



c;2 



20 



THE LION HUNT. 



Mount — mount for the hunting— with musket and spear ! 
Call our friends to the field — for the Lion is near ! 
Call Arend and Ekhard and Groepe to the spoor 3 ^ ; 
Call Muller and Coetzer and Lucas Van Vuur 40 . 

Side up Eildon-Cleugh, and blow loudly the bugle : 
Call Slinger and Allie and Dikkop and Dugal 41 ; 
And George with the elephant-gun on his shoulder — 
In a perilous pinch none is better or bolder. 

In the gorge of the glen lie the bones of my steed, 
And the hoofs of a heifer of fatherland's breed : 
But mount, my brave boys ! if our rifles prove true, 
We'll soon make the spoiler his ravages rue. 

Ho ! the Hottentot lads have discovered the track — 
To his den in the desert we'll follow him back ; 
But tighten your girths, and look well to your flints, 
For heavy and fresh are the villain's foot-prints. 

Through the rough rocky kloof into grey Huntly-Glen, 
Past the wild-olive clump where the wolf has his den, 
By the black-eagle's rock at the foot of the fell, 
We have tracked him at length to the buffalo's well. 

Now mark yonder brake where the blood-hounds are howling ; 
And hark that hoarse sound — like the deep thunder growling ; 
' Tis his lair — 'tis his voice ! — from your saddles alight ; 
He's at bay in the brushwood preparing for fight. 



THE LION HUNT. 



21 



Leave the horses behind — and be still every man : 
Let the Mullers and Kennies advance in the van : 
Keep fast in your ranks ; — by the yell of yon hound, 
The savage, I guess, will be out — with a bound. 

He comes ! the tall jungle before him loud crashing, 
His mane bristled fiercely, his fiery eyes flashing ; 
With a roar of disdain, he leaps forth in his wrath, 
To challenge the foe that dare 'leaguer his path. 

Pie couches— ay now we'll see mischief, I dread : 
Quick — level your rifles— and aim at his head : 
Thrust forward the spears, and unsheath every knife — 
St. George ! he's upon us ! — Now, fire, lads, for life ! 

He's wounded — but yet hell draw blood ere he falls — 
Ha ! under his paw see Bezuidenhout sprawls — 
Now Diederik ! Christian ! right in the brain 
Plant each man his bullet— Hurra ! he is slain ! 

Bezuidenhout — up, man ! — 'tis only a scratch— 

(You were always a scamp, and have met with your match !) 

What a glorious lion ! — what sinews — what claws — 

And seven-feet-ten from the rump to the jaws ! 

His hide, with the paws and the bones of his skull, 
With the spoils of the leopard and buffalo bull, 
We'll send to Sir Walter 42 . — Now, boys, let us dine, 
And talk of our deeds o'er a flask of old wine. 






22 



THE LION AND GIRAFFE. 

Wouldst thou view the Lion's den ? 
Search afar from haunts of men — 
Where the reed-encircled rill 
Oozes from the rocky hill, 
By its verdure far descried 
'Mid the desert brown and wide. 

Close beside the sedgy brim 
Couchant lurks the Lion grim ; 
Watching till the close of day 
Brings the death-devoted prey. 
Heedless, at the ambushed brink 
The tall Giraffe 43 stoops down to drink : 
Upon him straight the savage springs 
With cruel joy. The desert rings 
With clanging sound of desperate strife — 
The prey is strong and he strives for life. 
Plunging oft with frantic bound, 
To shake the tyrant to the ground, 
He shrieks*— he rushes through the waste, 
With glaring eye and headlong haste : 
In vain ! — the spoiler on his prize 
Rides proudly — tearing as he flies. 

For life — the victim's utmost speed 
Is mustered in this hour of need : 
For life — for life — his giant might 
He strains, and pours his soul in flight ; 
And, mad with terror, thirst, and pain, 
Spurns with wild hoof the thundering plain. 



THE EMIGRANT^ CABIN. 23 

Tis vain ; the thirsty sands are drinking 
His streaming blood — his strength is sinking ; 
The victor's fangs are in his veins — 
His flanks are streaked with sanguine stains — 
His panting breast in foam and gore 
Is bathed — he reels — his race is o'er : 
He falls — and, with convulsive throe, 
Resigns his throat to the ravening foe ! 
— And lo ! ere quivering life has fled, 
The vultures, wheeling overhead, 
Swoop down, to watch, in gaunt array, 
Till the gorged tyrant quits his prey 44 . 



THE EMIGRANT'S CABIN. 



AN EPISTLE IN RHYME. 



Where the young river, from its wild ravine, 

Winds pleasantly through Eildon's pastures green 4,5 , 

With fair acacias waving on its banks, 

And willows bending o'er in graceful ranks, 

And the steep mountain rising close behind, 

To shield us from the Snowberg's 46 wintry wind, — 

Appears my rustic cabin, thatched with reeds, 

Upon a knoll amid the grassy meads ; 

And, close beside it, looking o'er the lea, 

Our summer-seat beneath an umbra-tree 47 . 

This morning, musing in that favourite seat, 
My hound, old Yarrow, dreaming at my feet, 
I pictured you, sage Fairbairn 48 , at my side, 
By some good Genie wafted cross the tide ; 



24 



THE EMIGRANT S CABIN". 



And, after cordial greetings, thus went on 
In Fancy's Dream our colloquy, dear John. 

P. — Enter, my friend, our beehive-cottage door : 
No carpet hides the humble earthen floor, 
But it is hard as brick, clean-swept, and cool. 
You must be wearied ? Take that jointed stool ; 
Or on this couch of leopard-skin recline ; 
You'll find it soft — the workmanship is mine. 

F. — Why, Pringle, yes — your cabin's snug enough, 

Though oddly shaped. But as for household stuff, 

I only see some rough-hewn sticks and spars ; 

A wicker cupboard, filled with flasks and jars ; 

A pile of books, on rustic frame-work placed ; 

Hides of ferocious beasts that roam the waste ; 

Whose kindred prowl, perchance, around this spot — 

The only neighbours, I suspect, you've got ! 

Your furniture, rude from the forest cut, 

However, is in keeping with the hut. 

This couch feels pleasant : is't with grass you stuff it ? 

So far I should not care with you to rough it. 

But — pardon me for seeming somewhat rude — 

In this wild place how manage ye for food ? 

P. — You'll find, at least, my friend, we do not starve ; 

There's always mutton, if nought else, to carve ; 

And even of luxuries v/e have our share. 

But here comes dinner (the best bill of fare), 

Drest by that ' Nut-Brown Maiden,' Vytje Vaal 49 . 

[To the Hottentot Girl.'] Meid, roep de Juffrouwen naar't 

middagmaal : 
[To F.] Which means — ' The ladies in to dinner call.' 

Enter Mrs. P. and her Sister, who welcome their Guest to 
Africa. The -party take their seats round the table y 
and conversation proceeds.^ 



THE EMIGRANTS CABIN. 



25 



p. — First, here's our broad-tailed mutton 60 , small and fine, 

The dish on which nine days in ten we dine ; 

Next, roasted springbok, spiced and larded well ; 

A haunch of hartebeest from Hyndhope Fell ; 

A paauw 5 ', which beats your Norfolk turkey hollow; 

Korhaan, and Guinea-fowl, and pheasant, follow 52 ; 

Kid carbonadjes, a-la -Hottentot, 

Broiled on a forked twig ; and, peppered hot 

With Chili pods, a dish called Caffer-stew ; 

Smoked ham of porcupine, and tongue of gnu. 

This fine white household bread (of M t's baking) 

Comes from an oven too of my own making, 
Scooped from an ant-hill. Did I ask before 
If you would taste this brawn of forest-boar ? 

Our fruits, I must confess, make no great show : 
Trees, grafts, and layers must have time to grow 53 . 
But there's green roasted maize, and pumpkin pie, 
And wild asparagus. Or will you try 
A slice of water-melon ? — fine for drouth, 
Like sugared ices melting in the mouth. 
Here too are wild-grapes from our forest-vine^ 
Not void of flavour, though unfit for wine. 
And here comes dried fruit I had quite forgot, 

(From fair Glen- A von, M 1, is it not ?) 

Figs, almonds, raisins, peaches. Witbooy Swart 
Brought this huge sackful from kind Mrs. Hart — 
Enough to load a Covent-Garden cart. 

But come, let's crown the banquet with some wine. 
What will you drink ? Champagne? Port? Claret? Stein? 
Well— not to tease you with a thirsty jest, 
Lo, there our only vintage stands confest, 
In that half-aum upon the spigot-rack. 
And certes, though it keeps the old Kaap smaak 5 \ 



26 



THE EMIGRANT S CABIN. 



The wine is light and racy ; so we learn, 

In laughing mood, to call it Cape Sauterne. 

— Let's pledge this cup ' to all our friends, 1 Fairbairn ! 

F. — Well, I admit, my friend, your dinner's good. 

Springbok and porcupine are dainty food ; 

That lordly paauw was roasted to a turn ; 

And in your country fruits and Cape Sauterne, 

The wildish flavour's really— not unpleasant ; 

And I may say the same of gnu and pheasant. 

• — But — Mrs. Pringle . . . shall I have the pleasure . . . ? 

Miss Brown, . . . some wine ? -(These quaighs * are quite 

a treasure.) 
— What ! leave us now ? I've much to ask of you . . . 
But, since you will go — for an hour adieu. 

[Exeunt Ladies.] 

But, Pringle — ' a nos moutons revenons' — 
Cui honors still the burthen of my song — 
Cut off, with these good ladies, from society, 
Of savage life you soon must feel satiety : 
The mind requires fit exercise and food, 
Not to be found 'mid Afric's deserts rude. 
And what avail the spoils of wood and field, 
The fruits or wines your fertile valleys yield, 
Without that higher zest to crown the whole — 
' The feast of Reason and the flow of Soul V 
— Food, shelter, fire, suffice for savage men • 
But can the comforts of your wattled den, 
Your sylvan fare and rustic tasks, suffice 
For one who once seemed finer joys to prize ? 
— When, erst, like Virgil's swains, we used to sing 
Of streams and groves, and all that sort of thing -f-/ 

* Quaigh (Scotch), a small drinking cup, usually of wood or horn. 

f Hie gelidi fontes : hie mollia prata, Lycori ; 
Hie nemus : hie ipso tecum consumerer aevo. 






THE EMIGRANT^ CABIN. 27 

The spot we meant for our ' Poetic Den' 
Was always within reach of Books and Men ; 
By classic Esk, for instance, or Tweed-side, 
With gifted friends within an easy ride : 
Besides our college chum, the Parish Priest ; 
And the said den with six good rooms at least. — 
Here ! — save for Her who shares and soothes your lot. 
You might as well squat in a Caffer's cot ! 

Come now, be candid : tell me, my dear friend, 
Of your aspiring aims is this the end ? 
Was it for Nature's wants, fire, shelter, food, 
You sought this dreary, soulless solitude ? 
Broke off your ties with men of cultured mind, 
Your native land, your early friends resigned ? 
As if, believing with insane Rousseau 
Refinement the chief cause of human woe, 
You meant to realize that raver's plan, 
And be a philosophic Bosjesman ! — 
Be frank ; confess the fact you cannot hide — 
You sought this den from disappointed pride. 

P. — You've missed the mark, Fairbairn ! my breast is clear. 
Nor wild Romance nor Pride allured me here : 
Duty and Destiny with equal voice 
Constrained my steps : I had no other choice. 

The hermit ' lodge in some vast wilderness,' 
Which sometimes poets sigh for, I confess, 
Were but a sorry lot. In real life 
One needs a friend — the best of friends, a wife ; 
But with a home thus cheered, however rude, 
There's nought so very dull in solitude, — 
Even though that home should happen to be found, 
Like mine, in Africa's remotest bound. 



28 



THE EMIGRANT S CABIN. 



— I have my farm and garden, tools and pen ; 

My schemes for civilising savage men ; 

Our Sunday service, till the sabbath-bell 

Shall wake its welcome chime in Lynden dell ; 

Some duty or amusement, grave or light, 

To fill the active day from morn to night : 

And thus two years so lightsomely have flown 

That still we wonder when the week is gone. 

— We have at times our troubles, it is true, 

Passing vexations, and privations too ; 

But were it not for woman's tender frame, 

These are annoyances I scarce would name ; 

For though perchance they plague us while they last, 

They only serve for jests when they are past. 

And then your notion that we're quite exiled 
From social life amid these mountains wild, 
Accords not with the fact — as you will see 
On glancing o'er this district map with me, 

— First, you observe, our own Glen-Lynden clan 
(To whom I'm linked like a true Scottish man) 
Are all around us. Past that dark ravine, — 
Where on the left gigantic crags are seen, 
And the steep Tarka mountains, stern and bare, 
Close round the upland cleughs of lone Glen- Yair, — 
Our Lothian Friends with their good Mother dwell, 
Beside yon Kranz 55 whose pictured records tell 
Of Bushmen's huntings in the days of old, 
Ere here Bezuidenhout had fixed his fold. 
— Then up the widening vale extend your view, 
Beyond the clump that skirts the Lion's Cleugh, 
Past our old camp, the willow-trees among, 
Where first these mountains heard our sabbath song ; 



THE EMIGRANTS CABIN. 29 

And mark the Settlers 1 homes, as they appear 
With cultured fields and orchard-gardens near, 
And cattle -kraals, associate or single, 
From fair Craig-Rennie up to Clifton- Pringle. 

Then there is Captain Harding at Three- Fountains 56 , 
Near Cradock — forty miles across the mountains : 
I like his shrewd remarks on things and men, 
And canter o'er to dinner now and then. 
— There's Landdrost Stockenstrom at Graaff-Reinet, 
A man, I'm sure, you would not soon forget 57 , 
Who, though in this wild country born and bred, 
Is able in affairs, in books well read, 
And — What's more meritorious in the case — 
A zealous friend to Afric's swarthy race. 
We visit there ; but, travelling in ox- wagon, 
(And not, like you, drawn by a fiery dragon) 
We take a month — eight days to go and come — 
And spend three weeks or so with Stockenstrom. 
— At Somerset, again, Hart, Devenish, Stretch 58 , 
And ladies — whose kind acts 'twere long to sketch ; 
The officers at Kaha and Roodewal, 
Bird, Sanders, Morgan, Rogers, Petingal 59 ; 
All hold with us right friendly intercourse — 
The nearest thirty miles — five hours with horse. 
— Sometimes a pleasant guest, from parts remote, 
Cheers for a passing night our rustic cot ; 
As, lately, the gay-humoured Captain Fox, 
With whom I roamed 'mid Koonap's woods and rocks, 
From Winterberg to Gola's savage grot, 
Talking of Rogers, Campbell, Coleridge, Scott, 
Of Fox and Mackintosh, Brougham, Canning, Grey ; 
And lighter themes and laughter cheered the way — 
While the wild-elephants in groups stood still, 
And wondered at us on their woody hill 60 . 



30 



THE EMIGRANT S CABIN. 



— -Here too, sometimes, in more religious mood, 
We welcome Smith or Brownlee, grave and good, 
Or fervid Read 61 , — to Natives, kneeling round, 
Proclaiming the great word of glorious sound : 
Or, on some Christian mission bravely bent, 
Comes Philip 62 with his apostolic tent ; 
Ingenious Wright 63 , or steadfast Rutherfoord 64 ; 
With whose enlightened hopes our hearts accord. 

And thus, you see, even in my desert-den, 
I still hold intercourse with thinking men ; 
And find fit subjects to engage me too — 
For in this wilderness there's work to do ; 
Some purpose to accomplish for the band 
Who left with me their much loved Father- Land ; 
Something for the sad Natives of the soil, 
By stern oppression doomed to scorn and toil ; 
Something for Africa to do or say — 
If but one mite of Europe's debt to pay — 
If but one bitter tear to wipe away. 
Yes ! here is work, my Friend, if I may ask 
Of Heaven to share in such a hallowed task ! 

But these are topics for more serious talk, 
So we'll reserve them for an evening walk. 
Fill now a parting glass of generous wine — 
The doch-an-dorris cup — for ' Auld Lang Syne ; ' 

For my good M t summons us to tea, 

In her green drawing-room — beneath the tree ; — 
And lo ! Miss Brown has a whole cairn of stones 
To pose us with — plants, shells, and fossil bones. 



[Outside the Hut.] 
F. — 'Tis almost sun-set. What a splendid sky ! 
And hark — the homeward cow-boy's echoing cry 



THE EMIGRANT^ CABIN. 31 

Descending from the mountains. This fair clime 

And scene recal the patriarchal time, 

When Hebrew herdsmen fed their teeming flocks 

By Arnon's meads and Kirjath-Arba's rocks ; 

And bashful maidens, as the twilight fell, 

Bore home their brimming pitchers from the well. — 

— But who are these upon the river's brink ! 

P.— Ha ! armed Caffers with the shepherd Flink 

In earnest talk * ? Ay, now I mark their mien ; 

It is Powana from Zwort-Kei, I ween, 

The Amatembu Chief 65 . He comes to pay 

A friendly visit, promised many a day ; 

To view our settlement in Lynden-Glen, 

And smoke the Pipe of Peace with Scottish men. 

And his gay consort, Moya, too, attends, 

To see 'the World 1 and ' Amanglezi friends 66 ,' 

Her fond heart fluttering high with anxious schemes 

To gain the enchanting beads that haunt her dreams ! 

F. — Yet let us not these simple folk despise ; 
Just such our sires appeared in Caesar's eyes : 
And, in the course of Heaven's evolving plan, 
By truth made free, the long-scorned African, 
His Maker's Image radiant in his face, 
Among earth's noblest sons shall find his place. 

P. — [To Flink, the old Hottentot Shepherd, who comes forward.] 
Well, Flink, what says the Chief? 

Flink. Powana wagh' 

Tot dat de Baas hem binnenshuis zal vraagh/ 

P. — \_To P.] In boorish Dutch which means, ' Powana waits 

Till Master bid him welcome to our gates/ 

* See Vignette. 



32 the emigrant's cabin. 

[To Flink.] — We haste to greet him. Let rush mats be spread 
On th' cabin-floor. Prepare the Stranger's bed 
In the spare hut, — fresh-strewed with fragrant hay. 
Let a fat sheep be slaughtered. And, I pray, 
Good Flink, for the attendants all provide ; 
These men dealt well with us at Zwart-Kei side : 
Besides, you know, 'tis the Great Guide's command 
Kindly to treat the Stranger in our Land. [_Exeunt.~\ 



L ENVOI. 

Fairbairn, adieu ! I close my idle strain, 
And doff wild Fancy's Wishing Cap again, 
Whose witchery, o'er ocean's wide expanse, 
Triumphant over adverse Circumstance, 
From Tyne's far banks has conjured you away, 
To spend with me this summer holiday ; 
Half-realising, as I weave these rhymes, 
Our kind companionship in other times, 
When, round by Arthur's Seat and Blackford Hill, 
Fair Hawthornden and homely Hyvotmill 67 , 
(With a dear Friend, too early from us torn !) 
We roamed untired to eve from early morn. 

Those vernal days are gone : and stormy gales 
Since then on Life's rough Sea have tossed our sails 
Far diverse, — led by Fortune's changeful Star, 
From quietude and competence afar. 
Yet, Comrade dear ! while memory shall last, 
Let our leal hearts, aye faithful to the Past, 
In frequent interchange of written thought, 
Which half the ills of absence sets at nought, 
Keep bright the links of Friendship's golden chain, 
By living o'er departed days again ; 
Or meet in Fancy's bower, for ever green, 
Though 'half the convex globe intrudes between.' 
Glen-Lynden, 1822. 



33 



AN EMIGRANT'S SONG. 



Oh, Maid of the Tweed, wilt thou travel with me, 
To the wilds of South- Africa, far o'er the sea, 
Where the blue mountains tow'r in the beautiful clime, 
Hung round with huge forests all hoary with time ? 
I'll build thee a cabin beside the clear fount, 
Where it leaps into light from the heart of the mount, 
Ere yet its fresh footsteps have found the fair meads 
Where among the tall lilies the antelope feeds. 

Our home, like a bee-hive, shall stand by the wood 
Where the lory and turtle-dove nurse their young brood, 
And the golden-plumed paroquet waves his bright wings 
From the bough where the green-monkey gambols and swings' 
With the high rocks behind us, the valley before, 
The hills on each side with our flocks speckled o'er, 
And the far-sweeping river oft glancing between, 
With the heifers reclined on its margins of green. 

There, rich in the wealth which a bountiful soil 
Pours forth to repay the glad husbandman's toil ; 
Content with the Present, at peace with the Past, 
No cloud on the Future our joys to o'ercast ; 
Like our brave Scottish sires in the blithe Olden Day, 
The heart will keep young though the temples wax grey ; 
While love's Olive Plants round our table shall rise — 
Engrafted with Hopes that bear fruit in the Skies. 



34 



MAKANNA'S GATHERING. 



Wake ! Amakdsa, wake ! 

And arm yourselves for war. 
As coming winds the forest shake, 

I hear a sound from far : 
It is not thunder in the sky, 

Nor lion's roar upon the hill, 
But the voice of Him who sits on high, 

And bids me speak his will 69 ! 

He bids me call you forth, 

Bold sons of Kahabee 70 , 
To sweep the White Men from the earth, 

And drive them to the sea : 
The sea, which heaved them up at first, 

For Amakdsa's curse and bane, 
Howls for the progeny she nurst, 

To swallow them again. 

Hark ! 'tis Uhlanga's voice 71 

From Debe's mountain caves ! 
He calls you now to make your choice — 

To conquer or be slaves : 
To meet proud Amanglezi's guns, 

And fight like warriors nobly born : 
Or, like Umlao's feeble sons 78 , 

Become the freeman's scorn. 



makanna's gathering. 35 

Then come, ye Chieftains bold, 

With war- plumes waving high ; 
Come, every warrior young and old, 

With club and assagai. 
Remember how the spoiler's host 

Did through our land like locusts range ! 
Your herds, your wives, your comrades lost — 

Remember— and revenge ! 

Fling your broad shields away — 

Bootless against such foes ; 
But hand to hand we'll fight to-day, 

And with their bayonets close. 
Grasp each man short his stabbing spear — 

And, when to battle's edge we come, 
Rush on their ranks in full career, 

And to their hearts strike home ! 

Wake ! Amakdsa, wake ! 

And muster for the war : 
The wizard -wolves 7S from Keisfs brake, 

The vultures from afar, 
Are gathering at Uhlanga's call, 

And follow fast our westward way — 
For well they know, ere evening-fall, 

They shall have glorious prey ! 



d2 



36 



THE INCANTATION. 



Half-way up Indoda 74 climbing, 

Hangs the wizard-forest old, 
From whose shade is heard the chiming 

Of a streamlet clear and cold : 
With a mournful sound it gushes 

From its cavern in the steep ; 
Then at once its wailing hushes 

In a lakelet dark and deep. 

Standing by the dark blue water, 

Robed in panther's speckled hide, 
Who is she ? Jaluhsa's 75 daughter, 

Bold Makanna's widowed bride. 
Stern she stands, her left hand clasping 

By the arm her wondering child : 
He, her shaggy mantle grasping, 

Gazes up with aspect wild. 

Thrice in the soft fount of nursing 

With sharp steel she pierced a vein,— 
Thrice the White Oppressor cursing, 

While the blood gushed forth amain, - 
Wide upon the dark-blue water, 

Sprinkling thrice the crimson tide, — 
Spoke Jaluhsa's high-souled daughter, 

Bold Makanna's widowed bride. 



THE INCANTATION. 

* c Thus into the Demon's River 

Blood instead of milk I fling : 
Hear, Uhlanga — great Life-Giver ! 

Hear, Togugh — Avenging King 76 ! 
Thus the Mother's feelings tender 

In my breast I stifle now : 
Thus I summon you to render 

Vengeance for the Widow's vow ! 

" Who shall be the Chiefs Avenger ? 

Who the Champion of the Land ? 
Boy ! the pale Son of the Stranger 

Is devoted to thy hand. 
He who wields the bolt of thunder 

Witnesses thy Mother's vow ! 
He who rends the rocks asunder 

To the task shall train thee now ! 

" When thy arm grows strong for battle, 

Thou shalt sound Makanna's cry, 
Till ten thousand shields shall rattle 

To war-club and assagai : 
Then, when like hail-storm in harvest 

On the foe sweeps thy career, 
Shall Uhlanga whom thou servest, 

Make them stubble to thy spear ! " 



37 



38 



THE CAFFER COMMANDO. 

Hark ! — -heard ye the signals of triumph afar ? 
Tis our Caffer Commando 7? returning from war : 
The voice of their laughter comes loud on the wind, 
Nor heed they the curses that follow behind. 
For who cares for him, the poor Kosa, that wails 
Where the smoke rises dim from yon desolate vales — 
That wails for his little ones killed in the fray, 
And his herds by the Colonist carried away ? 
Or who cares for him that once pastured this spot, 
Where his tribe is extinct and their story forgot 78 \ 
As many another, ere twenty years pass, 
Will only be known by their bones in the grass ! 
And the sons of the Keisi, the Kei, the Gareep, 
With the Gunja and Ghona 79 in silence shall sleep : 
For England hath spoken in her tyrannous mood, 
And the edict is writing in African blood ! 

Dark Katta 80 is howling : the eager jackall, 
As the lengthening shadows more drearily fall, 
Shrieks forth his hymn to the horned moon ! 
And the lord of the desert will follow him soon : 
And the tiger-wolf 8l laughs in his bone-strewed brake, 
As he calls on his mate and her cubs to awake ; 
And the panther and leopard come leaping along ; 
All hymning to Hecate a festival song : 
For the tumult is over, the slaughter hath ceased — 
And the vulture hath bidden them all to the feast ! 



39 



A NOON-DAY DREAM. 



'Twas noon-tide ; and breathless beneath the hot ray 
The far- winding vales of the wilderness lay : 
By the Koonap's lone brink, with the cool shadow o'er me, 
I slept — and a Dream spread its visions before me. 

Methought, among scenes which I loved when a boy 
I was walking again with fresh feelings of joy ; 
For my soul, like the landscape, seemed softened and changed 
To what it was once — when in childhood I ranged 
Through Cheviot's valleys, to pluck the bright flowers, 
Or chase with young rapture the birds through the bowers. 
— On my dreaming ear waters were murmuring still, 
But the wild foreign river had shrunk to a rill, 
And Kaha's dark mountains had melted away ; 
And the brown thorny desert, where antelopes stray, 
Had become a sweet Glen, where the young lambs were racing, 
And yellow-haired children the butterflies chasing ; 
And the meadows were gemmed with the primrose and go wan, 
And the ferny braes fringed with the hazel and rowan ; 
The foxglove looked out from the osiers dank, 
And the wild-thyme and violet breathed from the bank. 
— And green fairy nooks 'mid the landscape were seen, 
Half hid by the grey rocks that high o'er them lean, 
Where the light birch, above its loose tresses was waving ; 
And the willow, below, in the blue stream was laving 
Its silvery garlands of soft downy buds ; 
And the throstle sang blithe to his mate in the woods ; 
And the brood of the wild-duck plashed over the pool, 
New-fledged from their nest among well- cresses cool. 



40 A NOON-DAY DREAM. 

- — And trouts from the limpid stream lightly were springing, 

And larks in the fleckered sky cheerily singing ; 

And down in the copsew T ood the cushat was cooing ; 

And o'er the brown moorland the huntsman hallooing ; 

The grey-plaided shepherd piped high on the fell ; 

And the milk-maiden sang as she sat by the well : 

With the lowing of herds from the broom -blossomed lea ; 

The cuckoo's soft note from the old beechen-tree ; 

The waving of woods in the health-breathing gale ; 

The dash of the mill-wheel afar down the dale. 

— All these were around me : — and with them there came 

Sweet voices that called me aloud by my name, — 

And looks of affection from innocent eyes, — 

And light-hearted laughter, — and shrill joyous cries : 

And I saw the mild features of all that were there, 

Unaltered by years, and unclouded by care ! 

• Then it seemed as that Scene slowly melted away, 
Like the bright cloud of morn in a midsummer's day ; 
And I lost the blithe sounds of the Pastoral Glen, 
'Mid the rattle of wheels and loud murmurs of men. 
— I stood on a mount, and saw, towering around, 
A City with ramparts and palaces crowned ; 
Where poets and sages were passing along, 
And statesmen and heroes— a glorious throng! 
I heard from on high the loud heralds proclaim 
With silver- toned voice each illustrious name ; 
I marked from afar their mild dignified mien, 
And their aspect, benevolent, simple, serene ; 
And lingered, in heart-greeting silence to gaze 
On the faces of some I had loved in their lays. 
- — But suddenly out-burst a boisterous crowd 
Of maskers and rhapsodists, railing aloud, 
And scattering brands in their frantic mirth, 
As if lewd love of mischief had called them forth : 



A NOON-DAY DREAM. 41 

And the burthen and boast of their scurrilous song 
Was to scoff at the Right and applaud the Wrong. 
—I looked on the scene till my heart grew sad — 
Then turned me away from the uproar mad ! 

The visionary Pageant again seemed to change, 
And a land lay before me of aspect strange — 
Where the tumult of voices disturbed me no more, 
But I heard the hoarse surf dashing wild on the shore, 
As bewildered I stood. Yet I was not alone ; 
For still amid crowds my dream passed on : 
' Mid crowds — but silent, and sad as death ; 
For it seemed as if each man held his breath, 
And cowered with his body, in abject fear, 
Like a caitiff beneath the proud conqueror's spear. 
■ — Then I turned, and lifted my wondering eye, 
And beheld a grim Spectre enthroned on high, 
And his name it was written — Tyranny ! 
— I gazed, and beheld how his scourge-bearing hand 
Was high outstretched o'er the shuddering land ; 
And his eyes, that like those of the basilisk shone, 
Blasted whatever they glared upon. 
— Yet crowds of votaries, kneeling around, 
Were worshipping him with a whispering sound ; 
And, ever and anon, his priests on high 
Hymned forth his praises to the sky. 
— Full many a race lay mingled there : 
Swart Afric's tribes with their woolly hair, 
The enslaved Madagass, the dejected Malay, 
And degenerate Belgian baser than they, 
Prone and promiscuous round him lay. 
As I drew more near 'mid the suppliant train, 
My heart swelled high with grief and pain, 
Proud England's children there to view, 
Commingled with that crouching crew ; 



42 THE BROWN HUNTER^ SONG. 

And I marvelled much that no manly hand 
Was raised to redeem the desolate land ; 
For I saw that the Monster's enchanted mould, 
Though braced with iron and bound with gold, 
Was formed but of vile and crumbling dust, 
Unfit to withstand the Avenger's thrust. 
— While thus I was musing, a crashing stroke, 
As when the red lightning shivers the rock, 
Fell ! And I started and awoke ! 

Awaking, I heard but the wild river sounding ; 
I gazed, but saw only the klip-springer 82 bounding, 
And the eagle of Winterberg high o'er the woods, 
Sailing supreme 'mid his solitudes. 

River Koonap, 1825. 



THE BROWN HUNTER'S SONG. 

Under the Didima 83 lies a green dell, 
Where fresh from the forest the blue waters swell ; 
And fast by that brook stands a yellow-wood tree, 
Which shelters the spot that is dearest to me. 

Down by the streamlet my heifers are grazing ; 
In the pool of the guanas the herd-boy is gazing ; 
Under the shade my Amana is singing — 
The shade of the tree where her cradle is swinging. 



the exile's lament. 43 

When I come from the upland as daylight is fading, 
Though spent with the chase, and the game for my lading, 
My nerves are new-strung, and my fond heart is swelling, 
As I gaze from the cliff on our wood-circled dwelling. 

Down the steep mountain, and through the brown forest, 
I haste like a hart when his thirst is the sorest ; 
I bound o'er the swift brook that skirts the savannah, 
And clasp my first-born in the arms of Amana. 



THE EXILE'S LAMENT. 

A SONG. 
Am — "The Banks o' Cayle." 



By the lone Mankazana's 84 margin grey 

A Scottish Maiden sung ; 
And mournfully poured her melting lay 
In Teviot's Border tongue : 

0, bonny grows the broom on Blaiklaw knowes, 

And the birk in Clifton dale ; 
And green are the hills o' the milk-white ewes, 
By the briary banks d Cayle. 

Here bright are the skies — and these valleys of bloom 

May enchant the travellers eye ; 
But all seems drest in death-like gloom 

To the exile — who comes to die ! 

0, bonny grows the broom, fyc. 



44 THE EXILE S LAMENT. 

Far round and round spreads the howling waste, 
Where the wild beast roams at will ; 

And yawning cleughs, by woods embraced, 
Where the savage lurks to kill ! 

0, bonny grows the broom, Sf-c. 

Full oft over Cheviot's uplands green 

My dreaming fancy strays ; 
But I wake to weep 'mid the desolate scene 

That scowls on my aching gaze ! 

0, bonny grows the broom, fyc. 

Oh, light, light is poverty's lowliest state, 

On Scotland's peaceful strand, 
Compared with the heart-sick exile's fate, 

In this wild and weary land ! 

0, bonny grows the broom, fyc. 



45 



THE CAPTIVE OF CAMALTJ. 



Cam alu — green Camalu 85 ! 

' Twas there I fed my fathers flock, 
Beside the mount where cedars threw 

At dawn their shadows from the rock ; 
There tended I my fathers flock 

Along the grassy-margined rills. 
Or chased the bounding bontebok 86 

With hound and spear among the hills. 

Green Camalu ! methinks I view 
The lilies in thy meadows growing ; 

1 see thy waters bright and blue 

Beneath the pale -leaved willows flowing ; 
I hear, along the valleys lowing, 

The heifers wending to the fold, 
And jocund herd-boys loudly blowing 

The horn — to mimic hunters bold. 

Methinks I see the umkoba-tree 87 

That shades the village- chieftain's cot ; 
The evening smoke curls lovingly 

Above that calm and pleasant spot. 
My father?— Ha !— I had forgot— 

The old man rests in slumber deep : 
My mother \ — Ay ! she answers not — 

Her heart is hushed in dreamless sleep. 



46 



THE CAPTIVE OF CAMALU. 



My brothers too — green Camalu, 

Repose they by thy quiet tide I 
Ay ! there they sleep — where White Men slew 

And left them — lying side by side. 
No pity had those men of pride, 

They fired the huts above the dying ! — 
— White bones bestrew that valley wide — 

I wish that mine were with them lying ! 

I envy you by Camalu, 

Ye wild harts on the woody hills ; 
Though tigers there their prey pursue, 

And vultures slake in blood their bills. 
The heart may strive with Nature's ills, 

To Nature's common doom resigned : 
Death the frail body only kills — 

But Thraldom brutifies the mind. 

Oh, wretched fate ! — heart-desolate, 

A captive in the spoiler's hand, 
To serve the tyrant whom I hate — 

To crouch beneath his proud command— 
Upon my flesh to bear his brand — 

His blows, his bitter scorn to bide ! — 
Would God, I in my native land 

Had with my slaughtered brothers died ! 

Ye mountains blue of Camalu, 

Where once I fed my father's flock, 
Though desolation dwells with you, 

And Amakdsa's heart is broke, 
Yet, spite of chains these limbs that mock, 

My homeless heart to you doth fly, — 
As flies the wild-dove to the rock, 

To hide its wounded breast — and die ! 



THE CAPTIVE OF CAMALU. 47 

Yet, ere my spirit wings its flight 

Unto Death's silent shadowy clime, 
Utiko ! Lord of life and light, 

Who, high above the clouds of Time, 
Calm sittest where yon hosts sublime 

Of stars wheel round thy bright abode, 
Oh, let my cry unto Thee climb, 

Of every race the Father-God ! 

I ask not Judgments from thy hand — 

Destroying hail, or parching drought, 
Or locust-swarms to waste the land — 

Or pestilence, by famine brought ; 
I say the prayer Jankanna 88 taught, 

Who wept for Araakdsa's wrongs — 
' Thy Kingdom come — thy Will be wrought — 

For unto Thee all Power belongs.' 

Thy Kingdom come ! Let Light and Grace 

Throughout all lands in triumph go ; 
Till pride and strife to love give place, 

And blood and tears forget to flow ; 
Till Europe mourn for Afric's woe, 

And o'er the deep her arms extend 
To lift her where she lieth low — 

And prove indeed her Christian Friend ! 



48 



THE DESOLATE VALLEY. 

Far up among the forest-belted mountains, 
Where Winterberg 89 , stern giant old and grey, 
Looks down the subject dells, whose gleaming fountains 
To wizard Kat 90 their virgin tribute pay, 
A valley opens to the noontide ray, 
With green savannahs shelving to the brim 
Of the swift River, sweeping on his way 
To where Umtoka 91 hies to meet with him, 
Like a blue serpent gliding through the acacias dim. 

Round this secluded region circling rise 
A billowy waste of mountains, wild and wide ; 
Upon whose grassy slopes the pilgrim spies 
The gnu and quagga, by the greenwood side, 
Tossing their shaggy manes in tameless pride ; 
Or troop of elands near some sedgy fount ; 
Or kudu fawns 92 , that from the thicket glide 
To seek their dam upon the misty mount ; 
With harts, gazelles, and roes 93 , more than the eye may count. 

And as we journeyed up the pathless glen, 
Flanked by romantic hills on either hand, 
The boschbok 94 oft would bound away- and then 
Beside the willows, backward gazing, stand. 
And where old forests darken all the land, 
From rocky Katberg 95 to the river's brink, 
The buffalo would start upon the strand, 
Where, 'mid palmetto flags, he stooped to drink, 
And, crashing through the brakes, to the deep jungle shrink. 






THE DESOLATE VALLEY. 4.9 

Then, couched at night in hunter's wattled shieling, 
How wildly beautiful it was to hear 
The elephant his shrill reveille pealing 96 , 
Like some far signal -trumpet on the ear ! 
While the broad midnight moon was shining clear, 
How fearful to look forth upon the woods, 
And see those stately forest-kings appear, 
Emerging from their shadowy solitudes — 
As if that trump had woke Earth's old gigantic broods ! 

Such the majestic, melancholy scene 
Which 'midst that mountain-wilderness we found ; 
With scarce a trace to tell where man had been, 
Save the old Caffer cabins crumbling round. 
Yet this lone glen (Sicana's ancient ground 97 ), 
To Nature's savage tribes abandoned long, 
Had heard, erewhile, the Gospel's joyful sound, 
And low of herds mixed with the Sabbath song. 
But all is silent now. The Oppressor's hand was strong. 

Now the blithe loxia hangs her pensile nest 
From the wild-olive, bending o'er the rock, 
Beneath whose shadow, in grave mantle drest, 
The Christian Pastor taught his swarthy flock. 
A roofless ruin, scathed by flame and smoke, 
Tells where the decent Mission-chapel stood ; 
While the baboon with jabbering cry doth mock 
The pilgrim, pausing in his pensive mood 
To ask—' Why is it thus \ Shall Evil baffle Good ? ' 

Yes — for a season Satan may prevail, 

And hold, as if secure, his dark domain ; 

The prayers of righteous men may seem to fail, 

And Heaven's Glad Tidings be proclaimed in vain. 



50 THE GHONA WIDOW'S LULLABY. 

But wait in faith : ere long shall spring again 
The seed that seemed to perish in the ground ; 
And, fertilised by Zions latter rain, 

The long-parched land shall laugh, with harvests crowned, 
And through those silent wastes Jehovah's praise resound. 

Look round that Vale : behold the unburied bones 
Of Ghona^ children withering in the blast : 
The sobbing wind, that through the forest moans, 
Whispers — ' The spirit hath for ever passed ! , 
Thus, in the Vale of Desolation vast, 
In moral death dark Afric's myriads lie ; 
But the Appointed Day shall dawn at last, 
When, breathed on by a Spirit from on High, 
The dry bones shall awake, and shout — ' Our God is nigh ! ' 



THE GHONA WIDOW'S LULLABY. 

Ut'iko umkula gozizulina ; 
Yebinza inquinquis Nosilimele. 
Umzi wakondna subiziel£, 
Umkokeli ua sikokeli tina : 
Uenza infama zenza ga bomi. 

Sicana's Hydin 9 '. 



The storm hath ceased : yet still I hear 

The distant thunder sounding, 
And from the mountains, far and near, 

The headlong torrents bounding. 
The jackal shrieks upon the rocks ; 

The tiger-wolf is howling ; 
The panther round the folded flocks 

With stifled gurr is prowling. 



THE GHONA WIDOW S LULLABY. 

But lay thee down in peace, my child ; 
God watcheth o'er us midst the wild. 

I fear the Bushman is abroad — 

He loves the midnight thunder 96 ; 
The sheeted lightning shows the road, 

That leads his feet to plunder : 
Fd rather meet the hooded-snake 

Than hear his rattling quiver, 
When, like an adder, through the brake, 

He glides along the river. 
But, darling, hush thy heart to sleep — 
The Lord our Shepherd watch doth keep. 

The Kosa from Luheri" high 

Looks down upon our dwelling ; 
And shakes the vengeful assagai, — 

Unto his clansman telling 
How he, for us, by grievous wrong, 

Hath lost these fertile valleys ; 
And boasts that now his hand is strong 

To pay the debt of malice 100 . 
But sleep, my child ; a Mightier Arm 
Shall shield thee (helpless one !) from harm. 

The moon is up ; a fleecy cloud 

O'er heaven's blue deeps is sailing ; 
The stream, that lately raved so loud, 

Makes now a gentle wailing. 
From yonder crags, lit by the moon, 

I hear a wild voice crying : 
'Tis but the harmless bear-baboon, 

Unto his mates replying. 
Hush — hush thy dreams, my moaning dove, 
And slumber in the arms of love ! 
e 2 



1 



52 THE GHONA WIDOW^ LULLABY. 

The wolf, scared by the watch-dog's bay, 

Is to the woods returning ; 
By his rock-fortress, far away, 

The Bushman's fire is burning. 
And hark ! Sicana's midnight hymn, 

Along the valley swelling, 
Calls us to stretch the wearied limb, 

While kinsmen guard our dwelling : 
Though vainly watchmen wake from sleep, 

' Unless the Lord the city keep. 1 

At dawn, we'll seek, with songs of praise, 

Our food on the savannah, 
As Israel sought, in ancient days, 

The heaven-descended manna ; 
With gladness from the fertile land 

The veld-kost 101 we will gather, 
A harvest planted by the hand 

Of the Almighty Father— 
From thraldom who redeems our race, 
To plant them in their ancient place 102 . 

Then, let us calmly rest, my child ; 

Jehovah's arm is round us, 
The God, the Father reconciled, 

In heathen gloom who found us ; 
Who to this heart, by sorrow broke, 

His wondrous word revealing, 
Led me, a lost sheep, to the flock, 

And to the Fount of Healing. 
Oh may the Saviour-Shepherd lead 
My darling where his lambs do feed ! 



53 



THE ROCK OF RECONCILEMENT. 



A rugged mountain, round whose summit proud 

The eagle sailed, or heaved the thunder cloud, 

Poured from its cloven breast a gurgling brook, 

Which down the grassy glades its journey took ; 

Oft bending round to lave, with rambling tide, 

The groves of evergreens on either side. 

Fast by this stream, where yet its course was young, 

And, stooping from the heights, the forest flung 

A grateful shadow o'er the narrow dell, 

Appeared the Missionary's hermit cell. 

Woven of wattled boughs, and thatched with leaves, 

The sweet wild jasmine clustering to its eaves, 

It stood, with its small casement gleaming through 

Between two ancient cedars. Round it grew 

Clumps of acacias and young orange bowers, 

Pomegranate hedges, gay with scarlet flowers, 

And pale-stemmed fig-trees with their fruit yet green, 

And apple blossoms waving light between. 

All musical it seemed with humming bees ; 

And bright-plumed sugar-birds among the trees 

Fluttered like living blossoms. 

In the shade 
Of a grey rock, that midst the leafy glade 
Stood like a giant sentinel, we found 
The habitant of this fair spot of ground — 
A plain tall Scottish man, of thoughtful mien ; 
Grave, but not gloomy. By his side was seen 
An ancient Chief of Amakdsa's race, 
With javelin armed for conflict or the chase ; 



54 THE FORESTER OP THE NEUTRAL GROUND. 

And, seated at their feet upon the sod, 
A Youth was reading from the Word of God, 
Of Him who came for sinful men to die, 
Of every race and tongue beneath the sky. 

Unnoticed, towards them we softly stept. 
Our Friend was wrapt in prayer ; the Warrior wept, 
Leaning upon his hand ; the Youth read on. 
And then we hailed the group : the Chieftain's Son, 
Training to be his country's Christian guide— 
And Brownlee and old Tshatshu side by side 103 . 



THE FORESTER OF THE NEUTRAL GROUND. 

A SOUTH-AFRICAN BORDER-BALLAD. 



We met in the midst of the Neutral Ground 104 , 
'Mong the hills where the buffalo's haunts are found ; 
And we joined in the chase of the noble game, 
Nor asked each other of nation or name. 

The buffalo bull wheeled suddenly round, 
When first from my rifle he felt a wound ; 
And, before I could gain the Umtoka's bank, 
His horns were tearing my courser's flank 106 . 

That instant a ball whizzed past my ear, 
Which smote the beast in his fierce career ; 
And the turf was drenched with his purple gore, 
As he fell at my feet with a bellowing roar. 






THE FORESTER OF THE NEUTRAL GROUND. 55 

The Stranger came galloping up to nry side, 
And greeted me with a bold huntsman's pride : 
Full blithely we feasted beneath a tree ; — 
Then out spoke the Forester, Arend Plessie. 

" Stranger ! we now are true comrades sworn ; 
Come pledge me thy hand while we quaff the horn ; 
Thou'rt an Englishman good, and thy heart is free, 
And 'tis therefore I'll tell my story to thee. 

" A Heemraad of Camdebdo 106 was my Sire ; 
He had flocks and herds to his heart's desire, 
And bondmen and maidens to run at his call, 
And seven stout sons to be heirs of all. 

" When we had grown up to man's estate, 
Our Father bade each of us choose a mate, 
Of Fatherland blood, from the black taint free 107 , 
As became a Dutch burgher's proud degree. 

" My Brothers they rode to the Bovenland 10S , 
And each came with a fair bride back in his hand ; 
But I brought the handsomest bride of them all — 
Brown Dinah, the bondmaid who sat in our hall. 

" My Father's displeasure was stern and still ; 
My Brothers' flamed forth like a fire on the hill ; 
And they said that my spirit was mean and base, 
To lower myself to the servile race. 

" I bade them rejoice in their herds and flocks, 
And their pale-faced spouses with flaxen locks ; 
While I claimed for my share, as the youngest son, 
Brown Dinah alone with my horse and gun. 



56 THE FORESTER OF THE NEUTRAL GROUND. 

" My Father looked black as a thunder -cloud, 
My Brothers reviled me and railed aloud, 
And their young wives laughed with disdainful pride, 
While Dinah in terror clung close to my side. 

" Her ebon eyelashes were moistened with tears, 
As she shrunk abashed from their venomous jeers ; 
But I bade her look up like a Burgher's wife — 
Next day to be mine, if God granted life. 

" At dawn brother Roelof came galloping home 
From the pastures — his courser all covered with foam ; 
4 Tjs- the Bushmen ! ' he shouted ; ' haste, friends, to the spoor ! 
Bold Arend ! come help with your long-barrelled roer 10 V 

- 
" Far o'er Bruintjes hoogte 110 we followed — in vain : 
At length surly Roelof cried, ' Slacken your rein ; 
We have quite lost the track. 1 — Hans replied with a smile. 
— Then my dark-boding spirit suspected their guile. 

" I flew to our Father's. Brown Dinah was sold ! 
And they laughed at my rage as they counted the gold. 
But I leaped on my horse, with my gun in my hand, 
And sought my lost love in the far Bovenland. 



" I found her ; I bore her from Gauritz 1 1U fair glen, 
Through lone Zitzikamma m , by forest and fen. 
To these mountains at last like wild pigeons we flew, 
Far, far from the cold hearts of proud Camdebdo. 

" I've reared our rude shieling by Gola's green wood, 
Where the chase of the deer yields me pastime and food 
With my Dinah and children I dwell here alone, 
Without other comrades — and wishing for none. 






THE FORESTER OF THE NEUTRAL GROUND. 57 

" I fear not the Bushman from Winterberg's fell, 
Nor dread I the Caffer from Kat-River's dell ; 
By justice and kindness IVe conquered them both, 
And the Sons of the Desert have pledged me their troth. 

" I fear not the leopard that lurks in the wood, 
The lion I dread not, though raging for blood ; 
My hand it is steady — my aim it is sure — 
And the boldest must bend to my long-barrelled roer. 

" The elephant's buff-coat my bullet can pierce ; 
And the giant rhinoceros, headlong and fierce, 
Gnu, eland, and buffalo furnish my board, 
When I feast my allies like an African lord. 

" And thus from my kindred and colour exiled, 
I live like old Ismael, Lord of the Wild — 
And follow the chase with my hounds and my gun ; 
Nor ever repent the bold course I have run. 

" But sometimes there sinks on my spirit a dread 
Of what may befal when the turfs on my head ; 
I fear for poor Dinah — for brown Rodomond 
And dimple-faced Karel, the sons of the bond 113 . 

" Then tell me, dear Stranger, from England the free, 
What good tidings bring'st thou for Arend Plessie \ 
Shall the Edict of Mercy be sent forth at last, 
To break the harsh fetters of Colour and Caste ? " 



58 



THE SLAVE DEALER. 



From ocean's wave a Wanderer came, 
With visage tanned and dun : 

His Mother, when he told his name, 
Scarce knew her long-lost son ; 

So altered was his face and frame 
By the ill course he had run. 

There was hot fever in his blood, 
And dark thoughts in his brain ; 

And oh ! to turn his heart to good 
That Mother strove in vain. 

For fierce and fearful was his mood, 
Racked by remorse and pain. 

And if, at times, a gleam more mild 
Would o'er his features stray, 

When knelt the Widow near her Child, 
And he tried with her to pray, 

It lasted not — for visions wild 
Still scared good thoughts away. 

" There's blood upon my hands ! " he said, 

" Which water cannot wash ; 
It was not shed where warriors bled — 

It dropped from the gory lash, 
As I whirled it o'er and o'er my head, 

And with each stroke left a gash. 



THE SLAVE DEALER. 59 

" With every stroke I left a gash, 

While Negro blood sprang high ; 
And now all ocean cannot wash 

My soul from murder's dye ; 
Nor e'en thy prayer, dear Mother, quash 

That Woman's wild death-cry ! 

" Her cry is ever in my ear, 

And it will not let me pray ; 
Her look I see — her voice I hear — 

As when in death she lay, 
And said, ' With me thou must appear 

On God's great Judgment-day ! ' " 

" Now, Christ from frenzy keep my son ! " 

The woeful Widow cried ; 
" Such murder foul thou ne'er hast done — 

Some fiend thy soul belied ! " — 
" — Nay, Mother ! the Avenging One 

Was witness when she died ! 

" The writhing wretch with furious heel 

I crushed — no mortal nigh ; 
But that same hour her dread appeal 

Was registered on high ; 
And now with God I have to deal, 

And dare not meet His eye 1U ! " 



60 



THE TORNADO. 



Dost thou love to list the rushing 

Of the Tempest in its might ? 
Dost thou joy to see the gushing 

Of the Torrent at its height ? 
Hasten forth while lurid gloaming 

Waneth into wilder night, 
O^er the troubled ocean, foaming 

With a strange phosphoric light. 

Lo, the sea-fowl, loudly screaming, 

Seeks the shelter of the land ; 
And a signal-light is gleaming 

Where yon Vessel nears the strand 
Just at sun-set she was lying 

All-becalmed upon the main ; 
Now with sails in tatters flying, 

She to seaward beats — in vain ! 

Hark ! the long-unopened fountains 

Of the clouds have burst at last : 
And the echoes of the mountains 

Lift their wailing voices fast : 
Now a thousand rills are pouring 

Their far-sounding waterfalls ; 
And the wrathful stream is roaring 

High above its rocky walls. 

Now the forest-trees are shaking, 
Like bulrushes in the gale ; 

And the folded flocks are quaking 
"Neath the pelting ©f the hail. 



THE TORNADO. 61 



From the jungle -cumbered river 
Comes a growl along the ground ; 

And the cattle start and shiver, 
For they know full well the sound. 

,r Tis the lion, gaunt with hunger, 

Glaring down the darkening glen ; 
But a fiercer Power and stronger 

Drives him back into his den : 
For the fiend Tornado rideth 

Forth with Fear, his maniac bride, 
Who by shipwrecked shores abideth, 

With the she- wolf by her side. 

Heard ye not the Demon flapping 

His exulting wings aloud ? 
And his Mate her mad hands clapping 

From yon scowling thunder -cloud ? 
By the fire-fiaucmVs gleamy flashing 

The doomed Vessel ye may spy, 
With the billows o'er her dashing — 

Hark (Oh God !) that fearful cry ! 

Twice two hundred human voices 

In that shriek came on the blast ! 
Ha ! the Tempest-Fiend rejoices — 

For all earthly aid is past ! 
White as smoke the surf is showering 

O'er the cliffs that seaward frown, 
While the greedy gulf, devouring, 

Like a dragon sucks them down ! 

Zitzihamma, 1825. 



62 






PARAPHRASE OF THE TWENTY-THIRD 
PSALM. 



The Lord himself my steps doth guide ; 

I feel no want, I fear no foe : 
Along the verdant valley's side, 

Where cool the quiet waters flow, 
Like as his flock a shepherd feedeth, 

My soul in love Jehovah leadeth. 

And when amid the stumbling mountains 
Through frowardness I blindly stray, 

Or wander near forbidden fountains 
Where the Destroyer lurks for prey, 

My wayward feet again he guideth 

To paths where holy Peace resideth. 

T hough that dread Pass before me lies, 
(First opened up by Sin and Wrath) 

Where Death's black shadow shrouds the skies, 
And sheds its horrors o'er the path, 

Yet even there I'll fear no ill, 

For my Redeemer guards me still. 



PARAPHRASE OF THE TWENTY -THIRD PSALM. 63 

Even He who walked by Abraham's side 
My steps doth tend through weal and woe ; 

With rod and staff to guard and guide, 
And comfort me where'er I go ; 

And He his ransomed flock that keepeth, 

Our Shepherd, slumbereth not nor sleepeth. 

For me a banquet he doth spread 

Of high desires and hallowed joys ; 
With blessings he anoints my head, 

And fills a cup that never cloys ; 
And nothing more my soul doth lack, 
Save gratitude to render back. 

Oh ! still may Goodness, Mercy, Truth, 

Attend my steps from stage to stage, 
As they have followed me from youth 

Through life's long weary pilgrimage ; 
Till He who Israel led of old, 
Shall guide me to his heavenly fold. 



64 



SONNETS. 



THE HOTTENTOT. 



Mild, melancholy, and sedate, he stands, 

Tending another's flock upon the fields, 

His fathers'* once, where now the White Man builds 

His home, and issues forth his proud commands. 

His dark eye flashes not ; his listless hands 

Lean on the shepherd's staff; no more he wields 

The Libyan bow— but to th' oppressor yields 

Submissively his freedom and his lands. 

Has he no courage ? Once he had — but, lo ! 

Harsh Servitude hath worn him to the bone. 

No enterprise ? Alas ! the brand, the blow, 

Have humbled him to dust — even hope is gone ! 

" He's a base -hearted hound — not worth his food " — 

His Master cries — " he has no gratitude™! " 






SONNETS. 

II. 

THE CAFFER. 

Lo ! where he crouches by the cleugh's dark side, 
Eyeing the farmer's lowing herds afar ; 
Impatient watching till the Evening Star 
Lead forth the Twilight dim, that he may glide 
Like panther to the prey. With freeborn pride 
He scorns the herdsman, nor regards the scar 
Of recent wound — but burnishes for war 
His assagai and targe of buffalo-hide. 
He is a Robber 1 — True ; it is a strife 
Between the black-skinned bandit and the white. 
A Savage ? — Yes ; though loth to aim at life, 
Evil for evil fierce he doth requite. 
A Heathen ? — Teach him, then, thy better creed, 
Christian ! if thou deserv'st that name indeed, 

in. 

THE BUSHMAN. 

The Bushman sleeps within his black-browed den, 

In the lone wilderness. Around him lie 

His wife and little ones unfearingly — 

For they are far away from ' Christian Men." 

No herds, loud lowing, call him down the glen : 

He fears no foe but famine ; and may try 

To wear away the hot noon slumberingly ; 

Then rise to search for roots — and dance again. 

But he shall dance no more ! His secret lair, 

Surrounded, echoes to the thundering gun, 

And the wild shriek of anguish and despair ! 

He dies — yet, ere life's ebbing sands are run, 

Leaves to his sons a curse, should they be friends 

With the proud ' Christian- Men , — for they are fiends 116 ! 



65 



66 SONNETS. 

IV. 
SLAVERY. 

Oh Slavery ! thou art a bitter draught ! 
And twice accursed is thy poisoned bowl, 
Which taints with leprosy the White Man's soul, 
Not less than his by whom its dregs are quaffed. 
The Slave sinks down, o'ercome by cruel craft, 
Like beast of burthen on the earth to roll. 
The Master, though in luxury's lap he loll, 
Feels the foul venom, like a rankling shaft, 
Strike through his reins. As if a demon laughed, 
He, laughing, treads his victim in the dust — 
The victim of his avarice, rage, or lust, 
But the poor Captive's moan the whirlwinds waft 
To Heaven — not unavenged : the Oppressor quakes 
With secret dread, and shares the hell he makes ! 
1823. 



V. 



To this far nook the Christian exiles fled, 

Each fettering tie of earthly texture breaking ; 

Wealth, country, kindred, cheerfully forsaking, 

For that good cause in which their fathers bled. 

By Faith supported and by Freedom led, 

A fruitful field amidst the desert making, 

They dwelt secure when kings and priests were quaking, 

And taught the waste to yield them wine and bread. 

And is their worth forgot ? their spirit gone \ 

Now, in the breach of wickedness forth-breaking, 

At the lone watchman's warning call awaking, 

To lift the faithful standard is there none ? 

Yes — still 'mong the dry bones there is a shaking, 

And a faint glimmering still where former lustre shone. 

1824. 



SONNETS. 



GENADENDAL. 

In distant Europe oft I've longed to see 
This quiet Vale of Grace ; to list the sound 
Of lulling brooks and moaning turtles round 
The apostle Schmidt's old consecrated tree ; 
To hear the hymns of solemn melody 
Rising from the sequestered burial ground ; 
To see the heathen taught, the lost sheep found, 
The blind restored, the long-oppressed set free. 
All this I've witnessed now — and pleasantly 
Its memory shall in my heart remain ; 
But yet more close familiar ties there be 
That bind me to this spot with grateful chain — 
For it hath been a Sabbath Home to me, 
Through lingering months of solitude and pain U8 . 

November, 1824. 

VII. 
ENON U9 . 

By Heaven directed, by the World reviled, 
Amidst the Wilderness they sought a home, 
Where beasts of prey and men of murder roam, 
And untamed Nature holds her revels wild. 
There, on their pious toils their Master smiled, 
And prospered them, beyond the thoughts of men, 
Till in the satyr's haunt and dragon's den 
A garden bloomed, and savage hordes grew mild. 
— So, ill the guilty heart when Heavenly Grace 
Enters, it ceaseth not till it uproot 
All Evil Passions from each hidden cell ; 
Planting again an Eden in their place, 
Which yields to men and angels pleasant fruit ; 
And God himself delighteth there to dwell. 

April, 1821. F 2 



67 



68 



SONNETS'. 



VIII. 

THE GOOD MISSIONARY. 

He left his Christian friends and native strand, 

By pity for benighted men constrained : 

His heart was fraught with charity unfeigned ; 

His life was strict, his manners meek and bland. 

Long dwelt he lonely in a heathen land, 

In want and weariness — yet ne'er complained ; 

But laboured that the lost sheep might be gained, 

Nor seeking recompense from human hand. 

The credit of the arduous works he wrought 

Was reaped by other men who came behind : 

The world gave him no honour— none he sought, 

But cherished Christ's example in his mind. 

To one great aim his heart and hopes were given — 

To serve his God and gather souls to Heaven. 

Cafferland, 1825. 

IX. 

TO THE REV. DR. PHILIP. 

Thy heavenly Master's voice with reverent awe 
Thou heard'st, as thus to thy stirred heart it spoke : 
4 Go forth and gather yon poor scattered Flock 
Within the free pale of the Gospel Law. 
The trembling lamb pluck from the tiger's paw, 
Nor fear his cruel fangs ; for by the stroke 
Of thy frail staff his cheek-bone shall be broke, 
And many saved from the Devourer's jaw.' 
Such the high task : and manfully and well 
Thou for that peeled and scattered Flock hast striven 
And henceforth they in quietude shall dwell, 
(Their ruthless spoilers fettered, or forth -driven,) 
With nought to scare them, save the baffled yell 
Of hungry wolves from whom the prey was riven 120 . 
1828. 



SONNETS. 



X. 
A. COMMON CHARACTER. 



69 



Not altogether wicked — but so weak, 

That greater villains made of him their tool ; 

Not void of talent — yet so much a fool 

As honour by dishonest means to seek : 

Proud to the humble, to the haughty meek ; 

In flattery servile, insolent in rule : 

Keen for his own — for others' interest cool ; 

Hate in his heart, and smiles upon his cheek. 

This man, with abject meanness joined to pride r 

Was yet a pleasant fellow in his day ; 

For all unseemly traits he well could hide, 

Whene'er he mingled with the great and gay. 

— But he is buried now—and, when he died, 

No one seemed sorry that he was away ! 

Cape Town, 1825. 

XI. 

THE NAMELESS STREAM. 

I found a Nameless Stream among the hills 121 , 

And traced its course through many a changeful scene ; 

Now gliding free through grassy uplands green, 

And stately forests, fed by limpid rills ; 

Now dashing through dark grottos, where distils 

The poison dew ; then issuing all serene 

'Mong flowery meads, where snow-white lilies screen 

The wild-swan's whiter breast. At length it fills 

Its deepening channels ; flowing calmly on 

To join the Ocean on his billowy beach. 

— But that bright bourne its current ne'er shall reach : 

It meets the thirsty Desert and is gone 

To waste oblivion ! Let its story teach 

The fate of one — who sinks, like it, unknown. 

( '•/cu- T.ynden, 1825. 



70 SONNETS'. 

XII. 
MY COUNTRY. 

My Country ! when I think of all I've lost, 
In leaving thee to seek a foreign home, 
I find more cause the farther that I roam 
To mourn the hour I left thy favoured coast ; 
For each high privilege which is the boast 
And birth-right of thy sons, by patriots gained, 
Dishonoured dies where Right and Truth are chained, 
And caitiffs rule — by sordid lusts engrossed. 
I may, perhaps, (each generous purpose crossed,) 
Forget the higher aims for which I've strained, 
Calmly resign the hopes I prized the most, 
And learn cold cautions I have long disdained ; 
But my heart must be calmer — colder yet — 
Ere thee, my Native Land! I can forget. 
1825. 

XIII. 

THE CAPE OF STORMS. 

O Cape of Storms ! although thy front be dark, 

And bleak thy naked cliffs and cheerless vales, 

And perilous thy fierce and faithless gales 

To stanchest mariner and stoutest bark ; 

And though along thy coasts with grief I mark 

The servile and the slave, and him who wails 

An exile's lot — and blush to hear thy tales 

Of sin and sorrow and oppression stark : — 

Yet, spite of physical and moral ill, 

And after all IVe seen and suffered here, 

There are strong links that bind me to thee still, 

And render even thy rocks and deserts dear ; 

Here dwell kind hearts which time nor place can chill — 

Loved Kindred and congenial Friends sincere. 

1825. 



SONNETS. 71 



XIV. 



TO OPPRESSION. 



Oppression ! I have seen thee, face to face, 

And met thy cruel eye and cloudy brow : 

But thy soul- withering glance I fear not now ; 

For dread to prouder feelings doth give place 

Of deep abhorrence. Scorning the disgrace 

Of slavish knees that near thy footstool bow, 

I also kneel — but with far other Vow 

Do hail thee and thy herd of hirelings base. 

I swear, while life-blood warms my throbbing veins, 

Still to oppose and thwart with heart and hand 

Thy brutalising sway — till Afric's chains 

Are burst, and Freedom rules the rescued land, — 

Trampling Oppression and his iron rod. 

— Such is the Vow I take — So help me God ! 

1825. 



NOTE S. 



1. — Vm in the world alone ! — P. 3, 1. 16. 

* Ik ben alleenig in de ivaereld J ' was the touching expression, of Marossi, 
the Bechuana orphan boy, in his broken Dutch, when he first fell acci- 
dentally under my protection, at Milk River in Camdeboo, in September 
1 825. He was then apparently about nine or ten years of age, and had 
been carried off from his native country by the Bergenaars. He was sold 
to a Boor, (for an old jacket!) only a few months previously, when the 
kraal or hamlet of his tribe had been sacked by those banditti in the 
manner described in the text. The other incidents of the poem are also 
taken from his own simple narrative, with the exception of his flying to 
the desert with a tame springbok — a poetical license suggested to me by 
seeing, a few days afterwards, a slave child playing with a springbok fawn 
at a boor's residence. 

This little African accompanied my wife and me to England; and 
with the gradual development of his feelings and faculties he became 
interesting to us in no ordinary degree. He was indeed a remarkable 
child. With a great flow of animal spirits and natural hilarity, he was 
at the same time docile, observant, reflective, and always unselfishly con- 
siderate of others. He was of a singularly ingenuous and affectionate 
disposition ; and, in proportion as his reason expanded, his heart became 
daily more thoroughly imbued with the genuine spirit of the gospel, 
insomuch that all who knew him involuntarily and with one consent 
applied to this African boy the benignant words of our Saviour— ' Of such 
is the Kingdom of Heaven.' He was baptized in 1827, and took on 
himself (in conjunction with Mrs. P. and me) his baptismal vows, in the 
most devout and sensible manner. Shortly afterwards he died of a pulmo- 
nary complaint under which he had for many months suffered with exem- 
plary meekness. 

2. — This desolate Karroo — Y. 4, 1. 4. 
For a description of the Great Karroo, see Author's Narrative*, p. 297. 

* The Narrative affixed to the foolscap edition of The Poems, 1834. 



NOTES. to 

3. — The Bergenaars — P. 4, 1. 10. 
See Authors Narrative, p. 360. 

i.— The broad Gareep—P. 5, 1. 9. 
The Gareep is the native appellation of the Orange River. 

5. — Huge sea cows — P. 5, 1. 11. 
The Sea-cow, or Zeekoe, is the Hippopotamus. 

6- — Wolfish wild dogs — P. 6, I. 28. 
The Wild-dog, or Wilde-honde, of South Africa, is the Hycena Venatica. 

7.— Good Utiko—P. 7, 1. 3. 
Utiko, a term now in general use among many of the South African trihes 
for the Supreme Being, is derived from the Hottentot word 'Tiko, which 
is said literally to signify 'The Beautiful.' It has been adopted by the 
missionaries to denote the true God. 

S.—Bg vallegs remote where the oribi plays, 

Where the gnu, the gazelle, and the hartebeest graze, 
And the kudu and eland unhunted recline — P. 9, 1. 26. 

The Oribi is termed by Lichtenstein the Antilope Pigmcea ; but it is not 
the same as the Blauwbok of the Colonists, or the Iputi of the Caffers, an 
animal from nine to twelve inches in height, which is, I believe, the true 
Antilope Pigmcea. Oribi is the Hottentot name of an antelope somewhat 
resembling the Steenbok (A. Rapestris), but rather larger, and of a darker 
brown colour. 

For a notice of the Gnu, see Author's Narrative, p. 273. 

Gazelle is here used to denote the Reebok, or any other of the smaller 
antelopes. 

The Hartebeest (Antilope Caama), is one of the finest animals of the 
antelope family. It is fleet, and graceful in its gait. The male is about 
seven feet long and five feet high, with handsome recurvated horns growing 
from approximated bases ; the female of a similar size. The flesh is good, 
and bears a considerable resemblance to beef. 

The Kudu, or Koodoo, (Antilope Strepsiceros,) is also a very handsome 
antelope, in size somewhat smaller than the Hartebeest, being about six 
feet in length by four feet ten inches in height. The male is ornamented 
with magnificent horns, which are twisted in a spiral form, and, in the full- 
grown animal, are frequently found fully four feet long. A black mane 
adorns the neck of the Kudu. 

The Eland (Antilope Oreas), called by the Hottentots Kanna, is the 
largest of the South African antelopes, being estimated, when full grown, 
to be usually larger than an ox with respect to the quantity of flesh. The 
male measures about six feet in height by seven feet nine inches in length ; 



74 NOTES. 

with straight spiral horns, inclined backwards, about two feet in length. 
Its flesh is more juicy than that of most of the other antelopes. The name 
of Eland, i. e. Elk, has been applied to this animal by the colonists, from 
some fancied resemblance to the elk of Europe, in the same mode as many 
other names of animals have been misapplied by them. 

9. — Forests overhung with wild vine — P. 9, 1. 28. 
See Author's Narrative,]). 218. 

10 The timorous quagga's shrill whistling neigh — P. 10, 1. 5. 

The cry of the Quagga (pronounced quaglia, or quacha) is very different 
from that of either the horse or ass ; and I have endeavoured to express 
its peculiar character in the above line. 

11.— The fleet-footed ostrich, $c.— P. 10, 1. 9—14. 
See Authors Narrative, p. 299 — 301. 

12. — Away, away, in the Wilderness vast — P. 10, 1. 17. 
The Desert of Kalleghanny or Challahengah, north of the Orange River, 
and lying between the countries of the Bechuanas and Damaras, is said to 
be for the most part entirely destitute of water, so that the Bechuanas and 
Corannas in crossing it are forced to subsist on a species of wild water- 
melon, which grows abundantly on those arid plains. — See Thompson's 
Travels, vol. ii., p. 72; and Philips Researches, vol. ii. p. 123. 

IB— The bitter-melon for food and drink— P . 10, 1. 27. 
The wild water-melon of the Desert is a species of Coloquintida, and 
is bitter and pungent to the taste. I have seen on the skirts of the Karroo 
a species of prickly cucumber which is considered edible ; and Mr. Bur- 
chell mentions having found in a similar situation the Stapelia pilifera, 
a fleshy plant, with a cool and watery taste, which is much used by the 
Hottentots for the purpose of quenching thirst. These and other plants of 
the same character appear to be designed, by a beneficent provision of 
Nature, to mitigate the defects of climate, being only found in hot and arid 
tracts of country. — See Burchell, vol. i. p. 243. 

U._ The salt lake's brink- P. 10, 1. 28. 
In the midst of those desolate regions, large lakes or reservoirs of native 
salt are frequently found ; formed apparently by the heavy rains, which 
falling once in two or three years, wash into hollow places the saline parti- 
cles with which the neighbouring soil is impregnated. During the long 
droughts which ensue, the water is exhaled, and the dry crystalised salt 
remains, white as a frozen lake, in the bosom of the dry parched land. 

15.— The Desert my domain — P. 11, 1. 14. 
For notices of the Bushmen, see Authors Narrative, pp. 362 — 373. 



NOTES. 75 

16.— The countless springboks, 6;c P. 11, 1. 20. 

See Author's Narrative, -p. 201. 

17. — The wild horse to my rein — P. 11, 1. 22. 
The Zebra is commonly termed Wilde-Paard, or Wild-horse, by the 
Dutch African Colonists. This animal is now scarce within the colony, 
but is still found in considerable herds in the northern wastes and moun- 
tains inhabited by the Bushmen. 

18. — For I make of them my bread— -P. 12, 1. 8. 
<( The Bushmen," says Captain Stockenstrom, '"■ consider the locusts a 
great luxury, consuming great quantities fresh, and drying abundance for 
future emergencies." Locusts are in like manner eaten by the Arabs of 
the Desert, and by other nomadic tribes in the East. 

19.— The listless Goran, $c— P. 12, 1. 18. 
The Corannas, Koras, or Koraquas, are a tribe of independent Hotten- 
tots, inhabiting the banks of the Gareep, or Great Orange River. They are 
naturally a mild 5 indolent, pastoral people, subsisting chiefly on the milk 
of their goats and cows, and by occasional hunting. (Sse Thompson.) 
From causes, however, very similar to those which have transformed the 
Bushmen into a race of desperate .and vindictive savages, not a few of the 
Corannas have recently become bands of robbers ; and in conjunction with 
Bergenaars and other banditti, have committed many deplorable ravages 
upon the Bechuana tribes, and sometimes on the Colony. 

20. — The gorrah' s humming reed — P. 12, 1. 20. 
The Gorrah is one of the few rude musical instruments peculiar to the 
Hottentot race. It is not now very often to be met with in the Colony, 
where it is seldom well played upon except by old shepherds and herds- 
men. I have frequently heard it played, but not by a first-rate gorra-i&t. 
Mr. Burchell has given a minute description of this curious instrument, 
with the portrait of a Bushman playing on it, and the notes of the air, or 
piece of music, performed. " The gorrah,'' he observes, "as to its appear- 
ance and form, may be more aptly compared to the bow of a violin than 
to any other thing ; but in its principle and use it is quite different, being 
in fact that of a stringed and a wind instrument combined ; and thus it 
agrees with the iEolian harp. But with respect to the principle on which 
its different tones are produced, it may be classed with the trumpet, or 
French horn ; while in the nature and quality of the sound which it gives, 
at least in the hands of one who is master of it, this strange instrument 
approaches to the violin. It consists merely of a slender stick, or bow, on 
which a string of catgut is strained. But to the lower end of this string, 
a flat piece, of about an inch and a half long, of the quill of an ostrich, is 
attached, so as to constitute a part of the length of the string. This quill, 



'6 



NOTES. 



being applied to the lips, is made to vibrate by strong inspirations and 
expirations of the breath; each of which ending with an increased degree 
of strength, has always the effect of forcing out the upper octave, exactly 
in the same way as produced on the flute." — Travels in Southern Africa, 
vol. i. p. 458. 

Lichtenstein, who has also described this instrument, remarks that, 
"heard at a distance there is nothing unpleasant in it, but something 
plaintive and soothing. Although no more than six tones can be produced 
from it, which besides do not belong to our gamut, but form intervals quite 
foreign to it, yet the kind of vocal sound of these tones, the uncommon 
nature of the rhythm, and even the oddness, I may say wildness, of the 
harmony, give to this music a charm peculiar to itself." — Travels hi Southern 
Africa (English translation), vol. ii. p. 232. 

21. — Tightening famine' 's girdle round — P. 13, 1. 8. " 

In seasons of long continued drought, the Corannas are occasionally 
reduced to extreme destitution; and are then forced, like the Bushmen, to 
subsist on wild roots, ants, and locusts. On such occasions, they are accus- 
tomed to wear a leathern band bound tightly round their middle, which 
they term the ' girdle of famine.' The Arabs of the Desert are said to 
employ a similar contrivance to alleviate the pangs of hunger, and call it 
1 the girdle of emptiness.' 

22 The free-born Kosa—P. 13, 1. 15. 

That tribe of Caffers whose territory is now divided from the Colony by 
the river Keisi, or Keiskamma, are, in their own language, designated the 
Amakosa, and their country Amahosina. These are collective terms, 
formed from the word Kosa, which denotes an individual of the tribe, by 
adding the prefix ama, according to the regular usage of their language. 
The Chumi, Debe, and Kalumna, are border streams in the Amakosa 
territory. 

23. — With fragrant hoard of honey-bee 

Rifled from the hollow tree — P. 13, 1. 26. 

In the country of the Amakosa wild honey is found plentifully, and the 
natives very frequently avail themselves of the assistance of the Honey- 
bird, or Bee-cuckoo {Cuculus Indicator), in searching for it. This bird, 
which is of a cinereous colour, and somewhat larger than the common 
sparrow, is well known in South Africa for its extraordinary faculty of 
discovering the hives or nests of the wild bees, which in that country are 
constructed either in hollow trees, in crevices of the rocks, or in holes in 
the ground. Being extremely fond of honey, and of the bees' eggs, or 
larvae, and at the same time unable, without assistance, to obtain access to 
the bee-hives, nature has supplied the Indicator with the singular instinct 



NOTES. / / 

of calling to its aid certain other animals, and especially man himself, to 
enable it to attain its object. This is a fact long ago established on the 
authority of Sparrman, Vaillant, and other scientific travellers in Southern 
Africa; and, in Father Lobo's Travels in Abyssinia, a similar account is 
given of the Moroc, a bird found in that country, of precisely the same 
habits, and apparently of the same family with the Cuculus Indicator of 
the Cape of Good Hope. 

With the habits of this curious bird I was myself acquainted during 
my residence in the interior of the Cape colony, and have often partaken 
of wild honey procured by its guidance. It usually sits on a tree by the 
v/ay sideband when any passenger approaches, greets him with its peculiar 
cry of cherr-a-cherr ! cherr-a-cherr ! If he shows any disposition to attend 
to its call, it flies on before him, in short flights, from tree to tree, till it 
leads him to the spot where it knows a bee-hive to be concealed. It then 
sits still and silent till he has extracted the honeycomb, of which it expects 
a portion as its share of the spoil ; and this share the natives who profit by 
its guidance never fail to leave it. 

Sparrman states that" the Ratel, or Honey -badger, (Gulo Mellivorus), 
avails itself of the help of this bird to discover the retreat of those bees 
that build their nests in the ground, and shares with it the plunder of 
them. Some of the Hottentots assert, also, that to obtain access to the 
hives in hollow trees, the Honey-bird sometimes calls to its aid the Wood- 
pecker, a bird which finds in the larvae, or young bees, a treat as enticing 
to its taste as the honey is to that of its ingenious associate. I cannot 
vouch, on my own knowledge, for the truth of the latter statement ; but 
as it seems quite in conformity with the general habits of this singular 
bird, it may, at all events, be admitted as sufficient poetical authority for 
the following little fable, which, though written only for juvenile readers, 
has a moral serious enough to entitle it to a place among these African 
notices : — 

The Honey-bird sat on the yellow-wood tree, 

And aye lie was singing — ' Cherr-cherr-a, cu-coo la /' 

A-watching the hive of the blithe Honey-bee, 

' Cherr-a-cherr, cherr-a-cherr, cherr-a cu-coo-la ! 

The bee-hive was built in the hollow-tree bole, 

' Cherr-a-cherr, cherr-a-cherr, cherr-a cu-coo-la ! ' 

Without any entrance but one little hole, 

' Cherr-a-chrr, cherr-a-cherr, cherr-a cu-coo-la /' 

The Bees they flew in, and the Bees they flew out, 

' Boom-a-boo, foom-a-boo, boom-a-bitzz-zoola ! ' 
And they seemed to buzz round with a jeer and a flout, 

' Boom-a-boo, foom-a-boo, boom-born-a-boo-la ! ' 



78 NOTES. 

But the Honey-bird swore by the Aasvogel's* bill, 

' Cherr-a-cherr-, Aasvogel, gobb-a gob-oo-la ! ' 
Of their honeycomb he would soon gobble his fill, 

' Cherr-a-cherr, cherr-a-cherr, gobble-a-goola ! ' 

So he flew to the Woodpecker — ' Cousin,' quoth he, 

' Cherr-a-cherr, cherr-a-cherr, cherr-a cu-coo-la ! ' 
1 Come, help me to harry the sly Honey-bee, 

' Cherr-a-cherr, Wood-peck-er, cherr-a chop-hoola ! ' 

Says the Woodpecker, gravely, ' To rob is a crime, 

' Tic-a-tac, tic-a-tac, chop-at-a-hoola — 
' Besides, I hate honey, and cannot spare time, 

' Tic-a-tac, tic-a-tac, snap-at-a-snoola ! ' 

Quoth the Honey-bird, ' Cousin, reflect, if you please, 

' Cherr-a-cherr, cherr-a-cherr, cherr-a cu-coo-la ! 
1 The honey-comb's half full of juicy young-bees, 

' Cherr-a-cherr, cherr-a-cherr, gobble-a-goola ! ' 

' Ha ! ha ! ' cries the Woodpecker, ' that's a strong plea — 

' Tic-a-tac, tic-a-tac, tac-at-a-foola ! 
' I now see the justice of robbing the Bee — 

' Tic-a-tac, tic-a-tac, snap-at-a-snoola ! ' 

' They're a pofypode race, and have poisonous stings — 

' Tic-a-tac, tic-a-tac, chop-at-a-hoola ! 
' And then they're but insects — and insects are things — 

' Tic-a-tac, tic-a-tac, snap-at-a-snoola ! ' 

So the bee-hive was harried ; and, after their toil, 

* Cherr-a-cherr ',' e tic-a-tacj ' snap-at-a-snoola ! ' 
The jolly birds jested while parting the spoil, 

1 Cherr-a-cherr,'' l tic-a-tac,'' 'gobble-a-goola ! ' 

' Poor Pigeons may prate about Natural Rights,' 

Quoth the Honey-bird, ' Coorr-a-moo, coor-a-mur-roo-raT — 

'But the merry Owl mocks such Poetical Flights,' 

Quoth the Woodpecker, — ' Hu-hu-hoo ! tu-whit ! tu-whoorr-a ! ' 

While thus with pungent jibe and jest 
The friends gave relish to their feast, 
Suddenly burst on their ear 
Sounds of tumult, fury, fear — 
The rush of steeds, the musket's rattle, 
The female shriek, the shout of battle, 
The bellowing of captured cattle. 

* Aasvogel, the Vulture. One of the most common species in South Africa is the 
Percnopterus, the Sacred Vulture of the Egyptians. 



NOTES. 79 



— Flew the startled birds on high, 
Of this rout the cause to spy, 
Perched upon the topmost bough, 
Quoth Cuculus, ' I see it now : 
' Those unfeathered bipeds, Men, 
' Are at their bloody work again ; 
' Dutch and British in a band 

* Are come to rifle Cafferland. 
'Lo, like bees around their hive, 
' The dusky Amakosa strive ; 

' But they buzz and sting in vain, 

* The honey-nest — the kraal is ta'en* : 
' Young and old in death are lying, 

' And the harried swarm are flying ; 
' While around the cattle pen 
' Loudly laugh the " Christian men ! " 
' How can Dutch or English care 
' For Africans with woolly hair ? 
' What care they who dies or lives ? 

* They have got the bonny beeves. 
' And, to hallow this day's work, 

' They'll tithe the spoil to build a kirkf 
— ' Faugh ! I hate that smell of blood, 
' Let us down into the wood — 
' Let us back unto our feast — 
' We've no hypocrites at least !' 



* The comparison of a Caffer kraal to a ' honey-nest' is borrowed from Colonial 
phraseology ; and my friend John Tzatzoe, the Christian Caffer chief, gives the 
following illustration of its application : — In the close of 1816 or beginning of 1317, 
when the Colonial Government was in amity and alliance with Gaika, a commando 
was sent into Cafferland to attack Islambi. A letter was written to Mr. Williams 
the missionary, then settled under Gaika's protection at the Kat River, desiring him 
to apprise Gaika that the commando was entering the country, but that neither Gaika 
nor any of his adherents were the objects of it, but his enemy Islambi. The expedi- 
tion accordingly marched in the direction of Islambi; but they found that chief so 
well prepared to give them a warm reception, that the boors, who formed a piincipal 
part of the commando, became frightened, and said to the commander, Major Eraser, 
" You should never attack a honey-nest behind, but always in front. If we go 
farther into Cafferland, Islambi may cut us off; let us attack Gaika in front." 
Major Fraser, says Tzatzoe, weakly allowed himself to be persuaded. The commando 
suddenly turned, and fell upon Gaika's kraals, along the Kat and Koonap rivers; 
killed, one of Gaika's chiefs, and one chief and seven men of Enno's clan, and swept 
off an immense number of cattle — See South African Advertiser for November 
17, 1832, and March 10, 1833. 

f Colonel Brereton's commando in 1818 plundered the Caffers of more than 
23,000 head of cattle. A large number of these cattle were sold, and 3,000 rix- 
dollars of the proceeds were allotted to build a church at Uitenhage. This con- 
secrated fund was, however, afterwards devoted by the local authorities to a different 
purpose. 



80 NOTES. 

24 The honey -mead, the millet-ale— P. 14, 1. 13. 

A sort of mead, called honey -beer by the Hottentots, and hoiattoa by 
the Bechuanas, is used both by these tribes and by the Caffers. Of millet 
beer or ale the Caffers have two kinds, the common sort termed chaloa, 
and the stronger inguya. The millet {Sorghum) is first carefully malted, 
afterwards boiled in large earthen pots, and then regularly fermented with 
the aid of a root, which appears greatly to increase the inebriating effects 
of the liquor. This native beverage is used on all festive occasions, when 
war-songs of the most exciting character, and recited with much gesti- 
culation, form usually one of the chief entertainments.— (See Lichtenstein, 
vol. i., p. 271; Burchell, vol. ii., p. 552; Thompson, vol. ii., p. 260; 
Kay, p. 371, 375. 

25. — Stretched by his GuluwVs side. — P. 15, 1. 2. 
Guluwi, here used as a female proper name, signifies literally the Loory 
or Touracoo (Corythalx.) It is customary with the Caffers to give the 
names of animals, flowers, and other natural objects, to persons. Moya, 
the name of a Caffer female of rank (see p. 31), signifies literally the 
Wind. 

26. — The sjiekboom spreads its bowers — P. 16, 1. 3. 
The Spekboom ( Portulacaria AfraJ, a favourite food of the elephant, is a 
succulent arboreous evergreen, found in great abundance in many parts of 
the Colony, and, when profusely covered in summer with its lilac-like 
blossoms, has a very lively appearance. 

27. — The bright-blossomed bean-tree — P. 16, 1. 7. 

The Hottentot Bean-tree is the Guaiacum Afrum, or Scholia Speclosa, 
of botanists. It grows abundantly in some parts of the Glen-Lynden 
valley; and its clusters of scarlet flowers, intermingled with the small 
and elegant dark green foliage, give it a remarkable pre eminence among 
the trees of the cleughs, and the thick shrubbery on the lower declivities of 
the hills. The seeds of this leguminous plant are eaten by the natives, — 
whence its colonial name. The Caffer Bean-tree ( Erythrina CaffraJ is also 
a splendid flowering- tree. 

Among several other beautiful flowering trees found in the forest of 
Glen-Lynden, the Koonap, and the Boschberg, one of the most remarkable 
is the Sophora Sylvatica. (Burch.) This tree sometimes attains the height 
of thirty feet, and rivals our laburnum in a profusion of bunches of fine 
yellow blossoms. It produces flowers even in the deepest shade of the 
forest. 

28. — Brilliant as the glancing plumes 

Of sugar-birds among its blooms — P. 16, 1. 10. 

"The delicate humming-birds (Trochili) of South America," says Mr. 
Burchell, "are in Southern Africa represented by the Nectarinice, here 



NOTES. 



81 



called by the Dutch Colonists Suiker-vogek, (sugar-birds,) from having 
been observed, at least in the neighbourhood of Cape Town, to feed princi- 
pally on the honey of the flowers of the Suiker-bosch (Protect mellifera)." 
In the interior parts of the Colony, where this species of Protect does not 
prevail, I have seen at certain seasons of the year several species of Nee- 
tarinice or Certhwe, sometimes so numerous as to seem almost like a hive of 
bees, fluttering about various flowery shrubs, and sucking with their long 
sickle-shaped bills the honied sweets. The iridescent and brilliant colours 
of these beautiful little birds, outrivalling the blossoms among which they 
feed and sport, render them very attractive ; and one species (the Chalybea) 
has a clear melodious note, and sings delightfully. 

29.— The skipping reeboh—P. 16, i. 14. 
The Reebok, {Antilope Capreolus or villosa,) abounding in Glen-Lynden 
and the mountainous country around, is one of the smaller species of 
antelopes. These animals are generally found in pairs, and run with 
wonderful rapidity. The fur, which is of a cinereous colour, is of a soft, 
curly, and woolly texture. 

30.— The duiker— P. 16, 1. 23. 
The Duiker, or Diver, {Antilope mergens,) is so named on account of 
its peculiar mode of plunging among the brushwood when startled or 
pursued. It inhabits bushy countries. 

Z\.— The Bushman's Ca»e—~P. 17, L 1. 
We discovered among the rocks of Glen-Lynden two or three caves, or 
rather dens, which bore the obvious traces of having formerly afforded 
shelter or concealment to the Bushman race, by whom the whole of this 
district appears, at no very remote period, to have been inhabited. On the 
sides of those caverns or overhanging rocks many of the rude paintings of 
the Bushmen are still visible. They are executed chiefly with a sort of red 
ochre; and represent with considerable spirit herds of various wild animals, 
and the hunters in pursuit of them. The paintings of the Bushmen are 
well described in Mr. Barrow's Travels, vol. ii. p. 239. 

32. — The grim satyr -faced baboon — P. 17, 1. 3. 
Cercopithecus ur shuts . 

33. — The guana '.? glassy pool — P. 17, 1. 27. 
The Cape Guana, or Leguan. 

34 — The palmite's leafy screen — P. 17, 1. 29. 
The Palmite, Acorus Palmita, is a tall water-plant. 

35 — Cradle-nests— P. 17, 1. 33. 
See Authors Narrative, p. 279. 



82 NOTES. 

36.— The white man's servile thrall—?. 18, 1. 23, 24. 
The Hottentot, in his state of debasement. 

37. — A naked, homeless exile he — P. 18, 1. 33, 34. 
The Bechuana Refugee. 

38.— Adder coiled upon the path— P. 19, 1. 22. 
The Night-adder is referred to. 

39. — CallArend and Ekhard and Groepe — P. 20, 1. 3. 

Arend or Arendz, Ekhard, and Groepe, were three of the principal fami- 
lies of our Mulatto tenants. 

40 — Mailer and Coetzer and Lucas Van Vuur — P. 20, 1. 4. 

The brothers Diederik and Christian Muller, two of our Dutch- African 
neighbours, then residing near the Zwart-Kei, were among the most 
intrepid lion-hunters in South Africa. They had between them killed 
upwards of thirty lions— not without some hair-breadth escapes. Diederik 
was deaf in one ear, from the effects of the clutch of a lion, which his 
brother shot while he was lying under it. Others of their adventures may 
be seen in the appendix to Thompsons Travels, vol. ii., p. 379. Diederik, 
who was a fine, frank, generous-hearted man, was quite a favourite with us 
all, and accompanied me on several of my excursions into the wild parts 
of the country. On my finally leaving Glen-Lynden, in order to testify 
his regard for me, he went out and shot a lion, and sent me the skin and 
skull as a parting gift. He closed his earthly career two or three years 
afterwards, in a mode quite accordant with the habits and ruling passion 
of his life. He had been for some time confined at home by a pulmonary 
complaint ; but, tiring of inactivity, he urged so strenuously his brothers and 
his friend Mr. George Rennie (who had become almost as fond of this perilous 
pastime as the Mullers) to accompany him on a hunting expedition into 
Cafferland, that, in spite of their apprehensions for his health, they at 
length consented, and set out together with a Mr. Gisborne, an Englishman, 
like themselves an enthusiastic hunter. They had not been above a week 
or two in the woods, however, before poor Diederik became dangerously ill. 
His friends endeavoured to convey him to his brother's house on the fron- 
tier ; but he did not live to reach it. He died where he had most delighted 
to live — in the wilderness. 

The Coetzer mentioned in the text was Arend, one of the sons of our 
neighbour, old Winzel, of Eland's-drift. 

Lucas Van Vuur (or Van Vuuren) was a tall, dark, muscular man, in 
height about six feet-two, with a bushy, coal-black beard, and an eye like 
an eagle's. He was for some time one of our nearest neighbours at Glen- 
Lynden, where he occupied the farm of Lyndoch-Cleugh, the property of 
Mrs. Colonel Graham. He usually carried a huge elephant gun, as long 



NOTES. 83 

and unwieldy as himself; but he had left it at home on the following occa- 
sion, when he had most special need of it. Lucas was riding across the 
open plains near the Little Fish River, one morning about day-break, when, 
observing a lion at a distance, he endeavoured to avoid him by making a 
circuit. There were thousands of springboks scattered over the extensive 
flats ; but the lion, from the open nature of the country, had probably been 
unsuccessful in hunting. Lucas soon perceived at least that he was not 
disposed to let him pass without further parlance, and that he was rapidly 
approaching to the encounter ; and being without his roer, and consequently 
little inclined to any closer acquaintance, he turned off at right angles, 
laid the sjambok freely to his horse's flank, and galloped for life. But it 
was too late. The horse was fagged, and bore a heavy man on his back ; 
the lion was fresh, and furious with hunger, and came down upon him like 
a thunder- bolt In a few minutes he overtook Lucas, and, springing up 
behind, brought horse and man in an instant to the ground. Luckily the 
boor was unhurt, and the lion was too eager in worrying the horse to pay 
any immediate attention to the rider. Hardly knowing himself how he 
escaped, he contrived to scramble out of the fray, and made a clean pair 
of heels of it till he reached the nearest house. Lucas, when he gave me 
the details of (his adventure, made no observation on it as being- any way- 
remarkable, except in the circumstance of the lion's audacity in pursuing 
a e Christian man' {Christen mensch) without provocation, in open day. 
But what chiefly vexed him "in the affair was the loss of the saddle. He 
returned next day with a party of friends to search for it, and take ven- 
geance on his feline foe; but both the lion and saddle had disappeared, and 
nothing could be found but the horse's clean-picked bones. Lucas said he 
could excuse the schelm for killing the horse, as he had allowed himself to 
get away, but the felonious abstraction of the saddle (for which, as he 
gravely observed, the lion could have no possible use) raised his spleen 
mightily, and called down a shower of curses whenever he told the story 
of this hair-breadth escape. 

41 Slinger and Allie and Dikkop and Dugal — P. 20, 1. 6. 

Slinger, Allie, and Dikkop, were Hottentot servants on the location. 
Dugal was a Bushman lad, placed under my charge by Landdrost Stock- 
enstrom in 1 820. He was but partially tamed, poor fellow, and used to 
take himself off to the wilds, occasionally, for two or three days at a time ; 
but always returned when he tired of the veld-host (country food, i. e. wild 
roots). I named him Dugal after Sir Walter Scott's ' Son of the Mist ' of 
that name. 

42.— We'll send to Sir Walter— P. 21, 1. 23. 

See note at page 261 of Author's Narrative. 

■i'd.— The tall Giraffe— P. 22, 1. 12. 
The sketch in the text was borrowed from an account given me by old 

G 2 



84 



NOTES. 



Teysho, a Bechuana Chief, of the mode taken by the Lion to surprise the 
Giraffe or Camelopard, when that magnificent animal comes to drink at 
the fountains of the wilderness. 

44.— The vultures, wheeling overhead. — P. 23, 1. 10. 

There are several species of the vulture in South Africa, some of which, 
such as the black vulture of the Winterberg, are of very large size. One 
of the most common is the Vultur percnopterus. These fowls divide with 
the hyeenas the office of carrion- sea ven gers ; and the promptitude with 
which they discover and devour every dead carcase is truly surprising. 
They also instinctively follow any band of hunters, or party of men tra- 
velling, especially in solitary places; wheeling in circles high in the air, 
ready to pounce down on any game that may be shot and not instantly 
secured, or on the carcase of any ox or other animal that may perish on 
the road. I have seen a large ox so dexterously handled by a flock of 
these voracious fowls, that, in the course of three or four hours, not a 
morsel except the bones and the skin (which they had contrived to disin- 
carnate entire) remained for the hyaenas. 

45. — Eildori 's pastures green — P. 23, 1. 14. 

See Author's. Narrative, p. 239. 

46.— The Snowberg's wintry wind — P. 23, 1. 18. 

The Sneeuwhergen (Snowy Mountains) lie north-west from Glen-Lyn- 
den, from which direction the wind blows sometimes very cold in winter. 

47 .—Beneath an umbra-tree — P. 23, 1. 22. 

The tree to which I have given the above name, is termed by the 
Dutch-African Colonists the witte-gat boom (white-bark tree). It is an 
evergreen, with a small dark-green leaf, and a light- coloured stem, rising 
generally to the height of ten or twelve feet, and then spreading out into 
an umbrella-shaped top. One of these trees happened to grow close to 
the spot where I erected my bee-hive cabin, and offered its shade very 
commodiously for a summer seat. 

48. — / pictured you, sage Fairbairn, at my side — P. 23, 1. 25. 

At the date of this ' Epistle,' Mr. Fairbairn was resident at Newcastle- 
on-Tyne. He is now Editor of the South African Advertiser at Cape 
Town. What he has done and suffered for South Africa may be partly 
estimated by referring to the Authors Narrative. — See pp. 311, 332, 342, 
489—493. 

4,9.— Vytje FaaL—r.24, 1. 27. 

Vytje is a Dutch diminutive for Sophia, and Vaal signifies a pale reddish 
colour, the hue of a faded leaf — which is precisely the colour of the Hot- 
tentot. The girl's real name, however, was Vytje Dragoener. She was a 



NOTES. 85 

native of Bethelsdorp, and was an extremely faithful, neat-handed, and 
respectable servant; and most affectionately attached to her mistress. 

50.— Our broad-tailed mutton, small and fine — P. 25, 1. 1. 
The broad-tailed sheep of Southern Africa is long-legged, small in the 
body, and has little fat except on its tail; but the flesh when young is very 
well -flavoured, not unlike Welsh or Highland mutton. Mr. Barrow has 
given a description and engraving of the Cape sheep. See his Travels, 
vol. i. p. 67. 

51, 52. — A paauw, which beats your Norfolk turkey hollow ; 

Korhaan, and Guinea-fowl, and pheasant follow. — P. 25, 1. 5, 6. 

The Wilde Paauw (wild peacock) is a large species of Otis, about the 
size of the Norfolk bustard, and is esteemed the richest flavoured of all the 
African feathered game. The spread of its wings is about seven feet, and 
the whole length of the bird about three feet and a half. Two smaller 
species of bustard are known by the name of Korhaans. 

The Guinea-fowl is plentiful in the valleys at certain seasons of the year. 

Partridges also, of several species, are abundant; but the bird called a 
Pheasant at the Cape is a sort of grouse, or rather a species intermediate 
between the grouse and the partridge. 

All these, and other sorts of game, we had occasionally ; but the reader 
must not suppose they were always so very plentiful, or so easily procured, 
that we could on any day of the year have thus feasted a chance visitor. 
But if I might conjure my guest from England, I might also conjure my 
game from the woods and hills. 

53. — Trees, grafts, and layers must have time to grow — P. 25, 1. 16. 
See Authors Narrative, pp. 166, 242. 

54, though it keeps the old Kaap smaak, 

The wine is light and racy — P. 25, 1. 33. 
Some of the lighter Cape wines are occasionally found of good quality 
and agreeable flavour, though seldom altogether free of the earthy taste, or 
Kaap smaak, which seems peculiar to the soil or climate. 

55.— Beside yon Kranz—P. 28, 1. 26. 
Kranz, in colonial usage, signifies a steep cliff or overhanging rock, such 
as the Bushmen often select for depicting their rude sketches on. One of 
these is close to Craig- Rennie. See Note 31. 

56. — Captain Harding at three Fountains — P. 29, 1. 5. 

Captain Harding, now deceased, a very intelligent officer, who had seen 
much foreign service, was Deputy-Landdrost of Cradock at the time of our 
location, and for several years afterwards. We had frequent friendly inter- 
course with him and his family. 



86 NOTES. 

57. — Landdrost Stockenstrom at Graaf-Reinet — P. 29, 1. 10. 
Captain Andrew Stockenstrom, a native of the Cape Colony, entirely 
educated in it, and who, until he came to Europe in 1833, was never in 
any other country than South Africa, is a man of uncommon merit. I 
have had occasion so frequently to mention this gentleman in the course of 
my narrative, that it is unnecessary here to add more than the mere 
references to the pages where his name occurs. — See Author's Narrative, 
pp. 163, 188, 189, 193, 194, 196, 201, 226, 227 ; 293, 356, 394, 401—409, 
433, 434, 435, 458, 459, 463, 466, 470, 472, 495. 

58.— Hart, Bevenish, Stretch— P. 29, 1. 19. 
Half-pay officers, then employed in the superintendence of Somerset 
Farm, with all of whom and their families we had frequent intercourse. 

59. — Bird, Sanders, Morgan, Rogers, Pettingal — P. 29, 1. 22. 
Officers stationed at the military posts of Roodewal and Kaha, or 
engaged in the government survey of the neighbouring country. 

60.— The gag-humoured Captain Fox— P. 29, 11. 27—34. 
Captain (now Lieutenant-Col.) C. R. Fox, paid me a visit in my bee- 
hive cabin in 1822 ; and I had the pleasure of introducing him to a couple 
of lion-hunters and a ' covey of elephants.' Six years afterwards we 
chanced to meet again in London, ' among books and men,' when he 
repaid me (how amply I need not add) by seating me at his English fire- 
side with Sir James Mackintosh and the poet Rogers. 

" The tale, brief though it be, as strange, 



As full, methinks, of wild and wondrous change, 
As any that the wandering tribes require, 
Stretched in the desert round their evening fire.' 



" Hail, sweet Society ! in crowds unknown, 
Though the vain world would claim thee for its own. 
Still where thy small and cheerful converse flows, 
Be mine to enter ere the circle close. 

Where in retreat lays his thunder by, 

And Wit and Taste their mingled charms supply ; 



Where genius sheds its evening sunshine round, 
Be mine to listen ; pleased yet not elate, 
Ever too modest or too proud to rate 
Myself by my companions, self-compelled 
To earn the station that in life I held." 

Rogers's Poems, 



NOTES. 87 

61. — We welcome Smith or Brownlee, grave mid good, 
Or fervid Read— P. 30, 1. 3. 

I feel it to be truly an honour and a privilege to ' enter on my list of 
friends ' these three excellent and meritorious men. 

The Rev. Alexander Smith, district clergyman of Uitenhage, is a most 
exemplary Christian Pastor : nor know I how to express a higher eulogy. 
Of the Rev. John Brownlee, Missionary in Cafferland, I shall only say, 
that I have endeavoured faithfully to pourtray his character in the sonnet 
entitled ' The Good Missionary/ (See page 68). His valuable Notes on 
the Caffers have been constantly referred to in my chapter upon that topic. 

Mr. Read was the friend and fellow-labourer of Dr. Vanderkemp ; and 
his services as a missionary among the Hottentot people have been 
inestimable. Mr. Read married a woman of the Hottentot race, and his 
family are consequently Mulattoes, a circumstance which in South Africa 
still involves a social proscription (though the 50th Ordinance has swept 
off all legal disabilities) only inferior to that existing in the United States : 
but now that the dragon Slavery is destroyed, its odious brood, the pre- 
judices of caste and colour, must ere long also expire. Having on various 
occasions been a visitor for several days together in Mr. Read's house, I 
am enabled to add, that nothing can be more truly respectable and 
becoming than the whole demeanour of Mrs. Read and her well-educated 
and intelligent family, all of whom are now most diligently and successfully 
occupied in conducting Infant and Sunday schools at the Kat River, among 
the rescued remnant of their long- oppressed brethren. 

62 Comes Philip with his apostolic tent — P. 30, 1. 6. 

The Rev. Dr. Philip, Superintendent of the Missions of the London 
Missionary Society, and author of ' Researches in South Africa.' In his 
missionary journeys, Dr. Philip used to travel with a tent attached to the 
tilt of his waggon, to which the expression in the text refers, and in the 
shade of which, seated with him and the Missionaries Read and Brownlee, 
in the wilds of Bruintjeshoogte and Camdeboo, I learned much of the 
African race, which it has been pleasant and profitable to remember. 

63.— Ingenious Wright— P. 30, 1. 7. 
The Rev. William Wright (now Dr. Wright), a gentleman of no 
ordinary acquirements in Biblical erudition, of which he has just given a 
valuable proof in his translation of Seller's Hermeneutics, or ' Art of 
Biblical Interpretation,' with notes. He resided for ten years at the Cape, 
in the service of the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel ; and was 
the only clergyman of the Church of England in the colony, during my 
residence there, who was friendly to the freedom, or active in promoting 
the improvement of the coloured classes. He founded a school at Wyn- 
berg in 1821, and another at Cape Town in 1822, where free coloured and 
slave children were instructed ; and he maintained the latter school 



88 NOTES. 

entirely at his own expense until it was taken out of his hands by the 
colonial government in Oct. 1823, and exhibited to the Commissioners of 
Inquiry as an institution ' established by the government itself, for the 
instruction of slave children ! ' This, indeed, was only one scene of the 
extraordinary farce which was then performed, and in which several grave 
functionaries, lay and ecclesiastical, acted the degrading parts assigned 
them, with a view to mystify the Commissioners ; but into the details of 
which (afterwards well known to the Commissioners themselves) I shall 
not here enter. Suffice it to say, that Dr. Wright, who was too honest 
and free of speech to be made a political tool in these disreputable transac- 
tions, and who, on the contrary, furnished much useful information to the 
Commissioners, became an object of bitter persecution. Injury and insult 
were heaped upon him in the colony, and he was moreover studiously 
calumniated to his own Society in England ; by whom he was thereupon 
charged with having 'formed connexions with persons ill-affected to the 
Chuiich,' merely because he kept company and sat on Committees with 
such respectable individuals as Dr. Philip, Mr. Fairbairn, &c. ! The 
Propagation Society, I am constrained to add, instead of affording due 
encouragement and support to their African Missionary, not only gave 
ready reception to these secret calumnious reports from the most impure 
sources (through whatever channels conveyed), but acted upon them in 
preference to the favourable statements of the upright General Bourke, 
who became the warm friend of Dr. Wright, and made ample and en- 
couraging arrangements for the discharge of his duties on the frontier of 
the colony. The Propagation Society, however, not only discountenanced 
those arrangements in favour of their Missionary, after they had received 
the sanction of the Secretary of State, but treated Dr. Wright with such 
glaring and intolerable injustice, that, being at the same time assailed with 
violent popular prejudice in the colony on account of his opinions in favour 
of the coloured race, he found it necessary to return to England in 1830. 
Here, unable to obtain either redress or investigation, and treated in every 
respect by the managers of the Society with the most supercilious disregard, 
he had eventually no alternative but to resign his colonial appointments. 
Having witnessed with disgust all this, and much more that I cannot here 
allude to, I print this notice expressly in the hope that it may meet the 
eyes of respectable and upright men connected with the Propagation 
Society, and lead to some scrutiny into this and such like cases. 

64 — Or steadfast Eutherfuord—V . 30, 1. 7. 
Mr. H. E. Rutherfoord, an English merchant of Cape Town. 

65.— The Amatembu Chief— V. 31, 1. 11. 
With Powana, and his clan of the Amatembu CafFers, we had friendly 
intercourse on several occasions ; but the scene in the text is a poetical 
fiction. 



NOTES'. 89 

66 A mangle. zi friends — P. 31, 1. 16. 

Amanglezi is the plural of Englezi, i. e. English, according to Caffer 
pronunciation. In the same manner the word Boor is euphonically trans- 
formed into Ibuht, of which the plural becomes Amabulu by the usual 
prefix of ama. 

67 Fair Hawlhomden and homely Hyvotmill — P. 32, 1. 18. 

Hyvotmill is a farm-house between Hawthomden and Edinburgh, the 
residence of Mr. Fairbairn's family relatives at the time of our first 
acquaintance. 

68. — The green-monkey gambols, <%c. — P. 32, 1. 12. 
The green-monkey (Cercopithecus glmicus) is a long-tailed ape, inhabit- 
ing the forests. Its CafFer name is imkdo. 

69. — And bids me speak his will — P. 34, I. 8. 
See Author's Narrative, pp. 428, 429, 430, 438. 

70. sons of Kahabee—Y. 34, 1. 10. 

Kahabee, or Kahabi, the father of Jslambi, Jaluhsa, Seko, &c, and 
grandfather of Gaika, is considered the patriarch of all the frontier clans, 
except the Amandanka and Gunuquebi, and his descendants and their 
vassals are to this day always addressed as ' Sons of Kahabi.' Hinza is the 
direct descendant from Galeka, the elder brother of Kahabi, and is, con- 
sequently, the chief highest in rank of the Amakoso tribe or nation. 

71. — Hark ! 'tis Uiilangd's voice — P. 34, 1.17. 

The term Uhlanga, sometimes used by the frontier Callers for the 
Supreme Being, is supposed by the Missionaries to be derived from 
hlanganisa, to join together. But from Mr. Kay's account of the Amakosa 
genealogy, it appears that Uhlanga, or Thlanga, is also the name of the 
oldest of their kings of whom there is any tradition, and by whose name 
they always swore in former days. It seems to me, therefore, doubtful, 
whether the god Uhlanga be not merely a deified chief, or hero, like the 
Thor and Woden of our own Teutonic ancestors. 

The names for the deity used more generally by the CafFer tribes are 
Udali, Umdali, or Ulodali, i. e. Former or Creator, from dala, to form or 
fashion, and Umenzi, i. e. Maker, from enza, to make ; " and which," says 
Mr. Kay, " when used in a sacred sense, are fully understood as referring 
to that Being by whom the great works of nature were produced— the 
heavens, the earth, the sea," &c. The Hottentot word Utiko is now, how- 
ever, used by all the frontier tribes to denote the Christian God. 

72. — Umlao's feeble sons — P. 34, I. 23. 
1 Sons of Umlao ' is the Caffer name for the Colonial Hottentots. 



90 NOTES. 

73. — The wizard-wolves, 8fc. — P. 35, 1. 15. 

One of the common superstitions of the Caffers is the belief that wolves 
or hyaenas are employed by the sorcerers to commit ravages on those they 
dislike, and that sorcerers themselves sometimes assume the shape and 
habits of hyaenas for destructive purposes. This superstition resembles in 
some respects that of the loup-garou of the dark ages. 

74 Half-way up Indoda, fyc. — P. 36, 1. 1. 

Indodo or Indoda Intaba, i. e. the Man Mountain, is a conical peaked 
hill in the Amakosa territory, so called from some resemblance it is sup- 
posed to bear to the human figure. 

75 — Jaluhsa's daughter — P. 36, 1. 11. 
Jaluhsa, the brother of Islambi, was one of the principal chiefs arrayed 
against the English in 1819. But the description of his daughter as the 
widow of Makanna, and the whole scene of the incantation, are fictions ; 
though the latter is founded, in some measure, on native superstitions. 
Sacrifices are offered and invocations made on momentous occasions to the 
spirits of their ancestral chiefs (see Thompson, vol. ii., p. 352; Kay, p. 
374) ; and the widows, during the period of mourning for their deceased 
husbands, cut and lacerate different parts of the body till the blood flows 
in streams. When Islambi died, his ten wives, according to the universal 
custom, were obliged to go into the wilderness, and to separate themselves 
by mourning, and fasting, &c, until the period of purification was over. 

76. — Togu'h, avenging king — P. 37, 1. 4. 
Toguh, fourth in descent from Uhlanga, is one of the patriarch chiefs 
whose spirit is commonly invoked on great national occasions. 

77.— -Tis our Caffer commando, %c— P. 38, 1. 2. 
Commando literally means a party commanded, or called out, for military 
purposes. In colonial phraseology, it is a term usually applied to any 
expedition against the natives. 

78 — His tribe is extinct and their story forgot — P. 38, 1. 10. 
The Ghona or Ghonaqua tribe is here referred to. This tribe, which 
formerly inhabited the country between the Keisi and Camtoos rivers, 
and of which so much has been written by former travellers, is now 
extinct. Of those who have survived the ravages of war and oppression, 
the greater part have become incorporated with the Gunuguebi clan of 
Caffers ; and another remnant, formerly residing at the Kat River, under 
the ministry of the missionary Williams, have been partly re-assembled 
in that district with the other Hottentot settlers. Andrew Stoffels, one of 



NOTES. 91 

the most intelligent men of that settlement, is a Ghona. — See Philips 
Researches, vol. ii., p. 191 . 

79.— With the Gunja and Ghona, §c— P. 38, 1. 14. 
The Gunja or Gunjaman tribe of Hottentots, was that which lived 
nearest the spot where Cape Town now stands, and who first ceded to the 
Dutch East India Company a tract of their country. Thunberg, who 
travelled in 1773, remarks that, in his time, this tribe was nearly extinct. 
At the present moment the work of extirpation is proceeding with accele- 
rated rapidity in the regions beyond the Orange River. 

80.— Dark Kalta—P.3S, 1. 17. 
The Katberg, or Kat Mountain. 

81.— The tiger-wolf— P. 38, 1. 21. 
The colonial name for the Hycena crocuta. 

82.— The Klip-springer— P. 42, 1. 11. 
The klip-springer, or rock-leaper, (Antilope oreotragus,) is so called from 
the amazing agility with which it springs from cliff to cliff among the 
crags and mountain rocks where it makes its abode. Its hoofs are adapted 
by a peculiar formation to enable it to traverse with security the giddy 
heights it delights to frequent. 

83,— The Didima—P. 42, 1. 14. 
A mountain between the sources of the Kat and Koonap. 

84.— By the lone Mankazana's, 8fc. — P. 43, 1. 9. 
A Branch of the Koonap River. 

85.— Green Camalu— P. 45, 1. 1. 
Camalu, a glen at the source of the Kat River. The ' Captive of 
Camalu ' is supposed to express the feelings of some of those Caffers and 
Ghonaquas converted by the missionary Williams, who, after the devas- 
tating wars of 1818, 1819, were forced to become bondmen among the 
Boors, or imprisoned in Robben Island. — See Philip s Researches, pp- 
190—192. 

86. — The bounding bontebok — P. 45, 1. 7. 
Antilope scripta. 

87.— The umkoba tree— P. 45, 1. 17. 
Caffer name for the yellow- wood tree. 



92 



NOTES. 



88. — The prayer Jankanna taught — P. 47, 1. 13. 
Jankanna was the name given to Dr. Vanderkemp by the Caffers. See 
Philip's Researches, vol. ii., p. 161. 

89. — Winterberg, stern giant, <%c. — P. 48, 1. 2. 
A lofty mountain on the frontier. 

90.— Wizard Kat— P. 48, 1. 4. 
The Kat River. 

91.— To where Umtoka hies, $c— P. 48, 1. 8. 
Umtoka is a branch of the Kat. 

92, 93.— Kudu fawns, $c. 

With harts, gazelles, and roes, $c— P. 48, 11. 16, 18. 
By harts and roes are here meant hartebeests and reboks ; for kudu and 
gazelle, see note 8. 

94.— The Boschboh—P. 48, 1. 21. 
Antilope sylvatica. This animal inhabits the thick forests; but at the 
dawn it leaves its sylvan retreats, and is to be seen feeding in the adjacent 
plains and valleys. 

95.— Rocky Katberg—P. 48, 1. 24. 
A ridge of mountains bounding the Kat River on the east. 

96. — The elephant his shrill reveille pealing — P, 49, 1. 3. 
The voice of the elephant at a distance, and especially when heard at 
night among the mountains, bears a striking resemblance to the sound of 
a trumpet. 

N.Sicana's Hymn— Pp 49, 50. 

Sicana, a secondary chief, or captain of a Caffer hamlet, at the Kat 
River, was one of the converts of the missionary Williams. This re- 
markable man composed the first Christian hymn, or sacred song, ever 
expressed in his native tongue; and, after the decease of his teacher, he 
continued to instruct his followers in the blessed truths he had learned, 
until his own death. See Philip's Researches, vol. ii., p. 186. 

Sicana's Hymn, which I first heard sung to a plaintive native air, by 
some Christian Caffers, who visited me at Glen-Lynden in 1825, was 
printed the following year in the New Monthly Magazine, from a copy 
with which I was furnished by Mr. Brownlee. It has been repeatedly 
reprinted since, as a curious specimen of a language remarkable for its 
euphonic rhythm, and for the peculiarities of its construction. Nor is it 
without great interest also in other respects. I now give it, with a literal 



NOTES. 



93 



translation, in which I have had the assistance of my ingenious and learned 
friend, the Rev. Dr. Wright, who studied the language in the native hamlets 
of the Ainakosa. 



Ulinguba Inkulu siambata Una, 
Ulodnli bomi nadali pczula, 
Umdala, uadala, idala izula, 
Yebinza inquinquis zixeliela ; 
Utiko Umkulu gozizuline, 
Yebinza inquinquis, Nozilimele, 
Umzi uakonana subiziele, 
Umkokeli ua sikokeli Una, 
Uenze infama zenza ga bomi. 
Imali inkula, subiziele ; 
Wena wena q'aba inyaniza ; 
Wena wena kaka linyaniza ; 
Wena wena klati linyaniza. 
Jnvena inh'inani sibiziele, 
Ugaze laku ziman'heba wena, 
Usanhla zaku ziman'heba wena; 
Umkokeli ua, sikokeli Una, 
Uloduli bomi uadali pezula, 
Umdala, uadala, idala izula. 



O thou Great Mantle which envelopes us, 

Creator of the light which is formed in the heavens, 

Who framed and fashioned the heavens themselves, 

Who hurled forth the ever-twinkling stars ; 

O thou Mighty God of Heaven, 

Who whirlest round the stars — the Pleiades, 

In thy dwelling place on thee we call, 

To be a leader and a guide to us, 

O thou who to the blind givest light. 

Our great treasure, on thee we call > 

For thou, O thou art the true rock ; 

Thou, O thou art the true shield ; 

Thou, O thou art the true covert. 

On thee, O holy Lamb, we call, 

Whose blood for us was sprinkled forth, 

Whose hands for us were pierced ; 

O be thou a leader and a guide to us, 

Creator of the light which is formed in the heavens, 

Who framed and fashioned the heavens themselves. 



It is singular that the word Nozilimele, or Izilimele, the Pleiades, in the 
above hymn, signifies literally the Cultivators ; because the Caffers begin 
to plant their millet at the season when this constellation assumes a certain 
position in the southern hemisphere. This reminds us of the expression 
in Job, " Canst thou bind the sweet influences of Pleiades ? " 

The tribes now known to speak, with but slight dialectic variations, the 
language of which the above is a specimen, are computed to amount to at 
least 650,000 souls, besides innumerable hordes farther in the interior, 
who are supposed to speak the same tongue, but with whom Europeans 
have not yet come into contact. By the persevering labours of the 
missionaries, exerted in brotherly competition in this good work, nearly 
the whole of both the Old and New Testaments have now been translated 
into the Caffer tongue, together with a copious vocabulary, and some ele- 
mentary school-books and tracts. A complete grammar of this language 
has also been just announced for publication at Graham's Town, by the 
Rev. Mr. Boyce, Wesleyan Missionary, by whom one of its remarkable 
peculiarities is thus described :— " With the exception of a change of 
termination in the ablative case of the noun, and five changes of which the 
verb is susceptible in its principal tenses, the whole business of declension, 
conjugation, &c, is carried on by prefixes, and by the changes which take 
place in the initial letters or syllables of words subject to grammatical 
government. As these changes, in addition to the precision they com- 
municate to the language, promote its euphony, and cause the frequent 
repetition of the same letter as initial to many words in a sentence, this 
peculiarity, upon which the whole grammar of the language depends, has 
been termed the Euphonic or Allitcral Concord." 



94 NOTES. 

98. — He loves the midnight thunder — P. 51, 1. 4. 
Stormy nights are often selected by the Bushmen for making their 
predatory attacks. Sparrman states that they often rail at the thunder, 
and defy the lightning, with the exclamations t'guzeri and t'gaunatzi, 
which appear to be terms of sorcery or magical incantation. They make 
signals to each other, by night, by means of fires on elevated situations. 

99.—Luherihigh—F. 51, 1. 13. 
Luheri, sometimes called Gaika's hill, is an elevated peak of the ridge 
which overlooks the Kat River valley on the east. 

100.— The debt of malice— P. 51, 1. 20. 
Alluding to the resentment of Makomo's clan, who had been driven 
out of the Kat River glen a few months before the settlement of the 
Hottentots. 

101.— The veld-kost—P. 52, 1. 16. 
Veld-lcost, literally country-food, is the term used for the wild roots and 
bulbs eaten by the Bushmen, and also by the Colonial Hottentots, on 
occasions of emergency. The edible bulbs, of which there are several 
kinds, are generally called uyentjes (onions) by the colonists. Among 
these uyentjes are the bulbs of the iris edulis, and of several other liliaceous 
plants, some of which, when roasted in the embers, have very much the 
flavour of a chestnut. The bulb of a species of cyperus-grass, about the 
size of a hazel-nut, is a good deal used. What are called Hottentot- figs, 
or the fruit of many sorts of mesembryanthemum, are also considered 
veld-kost. 

102. — To plant them in their ancient place — P. 52, 1. 20. 
Many of the Ghonaqua Hottentots, as has been already noticed, formerly 
resided on the Kat River, which belongs to the original territory of that 
tribe.— See Note 79. 

103. — Brownl.ee and old Tshatshu side by side — P. 54, 1. 10. 
The CafFer chief Tzatzoe, (pronounced Tshatshu,') who was formerly 
associated with Congo in the Zureveld, resided for some little time at 
Bethelsdorp with Dr. Vanderkemp, and left one of his sons to be educated 
by the missionaries. Young Tzatzoe, with whom I am personally acquainted, 
is now a well-informed and highly respectable man, and has become a most 
valuable missionary to his countrymen. In 1826 he accompanied Mr. 
Brownlee to the Buffalo River, in order to assist in establishing a missionary 
institution in the territory, and under the protection of his father, the aged 
chief. The poem entitled ' The Rock of Reconcilement ' describes an 
imaginary scene ; but yet drawn with a strict regard to truth, both as 



NOTES* 95 

regards scenery and sentiment. — See Philip's Researches, vol. i. p. 102, 
and vol. ii. p. 197. 

104.— The Neutral Ground—?. 54, 1. 11. 
See Author's Narrative, pp. 244—246. 

105. — His horns were tearing my courser' s flank- — P. 54, 1. 18." 
See Author's Narrative, pp. 246, 269—272. 

106. — A Heemraad of Camdeboo — P. 55, 1. 9. 

A Heemraad was a provincial functionary somewhat analogous to a 
justice of the peace, and was a member of the landdrost's board. 

Camdeboo, a Hottentot word signifying green elevations, is a term applied 
to the projecting buttresses which support the Snowy Mountains, and 
which are mostly covered with verdure; and the adjacent district of 
country is called by that name. 

107. — From the black taint free — P. 55, 1. 15. 
The prejudice of colour is so strong in the Cape colony, or at least was 
so a few years ago, that any white man who should marry a native or 
coloured female would be considered to have greatly degraded himself, if 
not to have altogether lost caste. — See Note 61. 

108.— The Bovenland—V. 55, 1. 17. 
The term Bovenland ( Upper-country) is used to signify those parts of 
the colony nearer to Cape Town, or Cape Town itself. 

109. — Long-barrelled roer — P. 56, 1. 12. 
Roer signifies simply gun ; but the term is more especially applied to 
the heavy long-barrelled guns used by the Boors for hunting elephants and 
other large game. 

110. — Far o'er Bruintjes-hoogte — P. 56, 1. 13. 
Bruintjes-hoogte (the Height of Bruin tje) is the appellation of a long 
ridge or elevation running out from the Boschberg, which bounds abruptly 
the arid plains of Camdeboo on the east. 

111. — Gauritz' fair glen — P. 56, 1. 21. 
The Gauritz river bounds the district of Swellendam on the east, and 
falls into the sea near Mossel bay. 

112. — Lone Zitzikamma-—? . 56, 1. 22. 
Zitzikamma is a wild tract of forest country, lying along the coast west 
of Camtoos river. 



96 NOTES. 

113.— The sons of the bond—?. 57, 1. 20. 

By the Cape colonial laws, as by those of most other slave colonies, the 
children of a free man by a slave woman, became legally the property of 
the owner of the female, unless where they could be proved to be that 
owner's own children. In this latter respect the Dutch colonial law was 
somewhat better than either the French or the English. But in the 
fictitious case given in the text, the children, as well as the mother, might 
be claimed as the property of the legal owner. The story of the poem is 
founded on facts, which occurred some years ago in a different quarter of 
the colony. 

114. — And dare not meet His eye — P. 59, 1. 24. 

Long after the sketch entitled ' The Slave Dealer ' was written, I found 
the following account of a case remarkably similar to the supposed one, 
related by the Rev. T. R. England at an Anti-slavery meeting at Cork, in 
September 1829. 

" One day I was sent for to visit a sailor who was approaching fast to 
his eternal account. On my speaking to him of repentance, he looked 
sullen and turned from me in the bed ; of a great God, he was silent— of 
the mercy of that God, he burst into tears. ' Oh ! ' said he, ' I can never 
expect mercy from God. I was ten years on board a slave ship, and then 
superintended the cruel death of many a slave. Many a time, amid the 
screams of kindred, has the sick mother, father, and new-born babe, been 
wound up in canvas and remorselessly thrown overboard. Now, their 
screams haunt me, night and day, and 1 have no peace and expect no 
mercy ! ' " 

115. — He has no gratitude — P. 64, 1. 14. 

Such was the common allegation of the colonists respecting the Hotten- 
tots, and frequently have I heard it repeated. My own experience enables 
me totally to deny its truth. But as a body, how could gratitude be then 
expected from them by the white men ? 

116 The proud ' Christian men '—P. Qh, 1. 28. 

Christian men {Christen menschen) is the term always used by the Boors 
to distinguish themselves from the coloured races. 

The Rev. Mr. Faure, formerly minister of Graaf-Reinet, mentioned to 
me, that having occasion in his clerical capacity to attend the execution of 
a Bushman malefactor, the savage fiercely interrupted his religious exhorta- 
tion with the following exclamation : — " I knew you would kill me, you 
murderer ! for my father always told me to beware of the White Men, 
because they would kill me, and I see he has spoken the truth." 



NOTES. 97 

117 .—Franschehoek — P. 66. 
The French Protestant refugees, who emigrated to the Cape of Good 
Hope on the revocation of the edict of Nantes, were settled by the Dutch 
government in the secluded valley of Franschehoek (or French Corner), so 
named from that circumstance. Here those meritorious men first intro- 
duced the cultivation of the vine, and other useful arts, which greatly tended 
to the improvement of the settlement. 

118. — Through lingering months, Qc. — P. 67, 1. 14. 
See Author's Narrative. 

\\9.—Enon—P. 67. 
See Author's Narrative. 

120. — Hungry wolves from whom the prey was riven — P. 68, 1. 28. 
See Authors Narrative, pp. 392, 39 4, 483, &c. 

121. — I found a Nameless Stream among the hills. — P. 69, 1. 15, 
Having sent this Sonnet, written in a fit of despondency, to my friend 
Fairbairn, he kindly reproved the feeling I had indulged in it, by trans- 
mitting, by return of post, the following, in which, though tinged perhaps 
with a little mysticism, I * owned the strain was of a higher mood: ' 

I found a Stream among the hills by night ; 

Its Source was hidden and its End unknown ; 

But Heaven was in its bosom, and the throne 

Which there the Sun fills beautifully bright 

Here held the lesser and the lovelier light ; 

Nor seemed the excelling beauty less alone 

Because the Stars her handmaids round her shone, 

And homelier Earth did with the throng unite. 

I thought not of its Source nor of its Ending ; 

'Twas but the mirror of enchanting things, 

Where Heaven and Earth, their softest graces blending, 

Owned the new world which from their union springs. 

Thus be my soul Truth's purified abode : 

Whence, or for what, I am, is thine, O God ! 

I shall conclude with another specimen of Mr. Fairbairn's poetry, which 
will probably cause the reader to share in the regret of his friends, that 
one who can write so well has written so little. It is entitled, ' The Heart's 
Confessions :' — 

HEART-wrung with grief and bitter care, 
Thy wounds unsalved and bleeding still, 
Who pierced thee thus, poor heart, declare? 

— ' 'Twas ray own will 



98 NOTES. 



Thy will ! What tempter, full of guile, 
Could turn thee from thy hopes aside, 
And life's young well with wrath defile? 

— ' 'Tvvas my own pride.' 

Bad counsellor ! When all around, 
Great, Fair, and Good, conspired to move, 
From humble joys what had thee bound ? 

— ' 'Twas my self-love.' 

Alas ! the Charities were near 
The Duties too, an arm^d troop, 
To guide, to fortify, to cheer — 

— ' I could not stoop.' 

Faith stretched from heaven her golden key, 
And Purity, twice born, before 
The narrow portal beckoned thee. 

— ' I could not soar.' 

Wretched ! from earth and heaven returned 

Empty, what findest thou within 

To balance what thy madness spurned ? 

— ' Error and sin ! ' 






99 



THE EMIGRANTS. 



[I propose, if I can find time, to complete my original design with regard to the 
fragment entitled " Glen-Lynden," namely, to make it the first part of a Poem to 
be entitled The Emigrants, and which will comprise two, or perhaps three, parts of 
similar length. This, with my juvenile and miscellaneous Poetry, might make a 
moderate -sized Volume. My African Poetry to make another Volume by itself.] 



INTRODUCTORY STANZAS. 



Sweet Teviot, fare thee well ! Less gentle themes 

Far distant call me from thy pastoral dale, 

To climes where Amakosa's woods and streams 

Invite, in the fair South, my venturous sail. 

There roaming sad the solitary vale, 

From native haunts and early friends exiled, 

I tune no more the string for Scottish tale ; 

For to my aching heart, in accents wild, 

Appeals the bitter cry of Afric's race reviled. 

From Keissi's meads, from Chumi's hoary woods, 

Bleak Tarka's dens, and Stormberg's rugged fells, 

To where Gareep pours down his sounding floods 

Through regions where the hunted Bushman dwells, 

That bitter cry wide o'er the desert swells, 

And, like a spirit's voice, demands the song 

That of these savage haunts the story tells — 

A tale of foul oppression, fraud, and wrong, 

By Afric's sons endured from Christian Europe long. 

Adieu, ye lays to youthful fancy dear ! 

Let darker scenes a sterner verse inspire, 

While I attune to strains that tyrants fear 

The deeper murmurs of the British lyre, — 

And from a holier altar ask the fire 

To point the indignant line with heavenly light, 

(Though soon again in darkness to expire,) 

That it oppression's cruel pride may blight, 

By flashing Truth's full blaze on deeds long hid in night ! 

h2 



100 



THE EMIGRANTS. 



Sweet Teviot ! by adventurous Leyden sung, 
And famed by mighty Scott in deathless lays, 
I may not hope, with far less gifted tongue, 
Aught higher to advance thy classic praise ; 
Yet, as a son his pious tribute pays 
To the loved mother he has left behind, 
I fain some grateful monument would raise, 
Which in far foreign lands may call to mind 
The scenes that Scottish hearts to their dear country bind. 

And, though the last and lowliest of the train 
By haunted Teviot smit with love of song, 
(Sweet witchery that charms full many a pain !) 
I join with venturous voice the minstrel throng : 
For Nature is the nurse to whom belong 
Alike the thrush that cheers the broomy dale, 
And the proud swan that, on bold pinions strong, 
Through the far tracts of ether dares to sail, 
And pours 'mid scenes sublime his soul-subduing wail. 



THE EMIGRANTS. 

No perilous theme I meditate : To me 
To soar 'mid clouds and storms hath not been given ; 
Or through the gates of Dread and Mystery 
To gaze — like those dark spirits who have striven 
To rend the veil that severs Earth from Heaven : 
For I have loved with simple hearts to dwell, 
That ne'er to Doubt's forbidden springs were driven, 
But lived sequestered in life's lowly dell, 
And drank the untroubled stream from Inspiration's well. 

Such were thy virtuous sons, fair Teviotdale, 
While old simplicity was yet in prime ; 
But now among thy glens the faithful fail, 
Forgetful of our sires in olden time : 
That grey-haired race is gone — of look sublime, 
Calm in demeanour, courteous, and sincere ; 
Yet stern, when duty called them, as their clime 
When it flings off the autumnal foliage sere, 
And shakes the shuddering woods with solemn voice severe. 

And such were they whose tale I now rehearse — 
But not to fashion's minions, who in vain 
Would ask amusement from the artless verse 
Of one who sings to soothe long hours of pain : 
A nameless exile o'er the southern main, 
I pour 'mid savage wilds my pensive song ; 
And if some gentle spirits love the strain, 
Enough for me, though midst the louder throng 
Few may be found to prize, or listen to it long. 

A rustic home in Lynden's pastoral dell 
With modest pride a verdant hillock crowned ; 
Where the bold stream, like dragon from the fell, 
Came glittering forth, and, gently gliding round 



102 THE EMIGRANTS. 

The broom-clad skirts of that fair spot of ground 
Danced down the vale, in wanton mazes bending ; 
Till finding where it reached the meadow's bound, 
Romantic Teviot on his bright course wending, 
It joined the sounding streams — with his blue waters blending. 

Behind, a lofty wood along the steep 
Fenced from the chill north-east this quiet glen ; 
And green hills, gaily sprinkled o'er with sheep, 
Spread to the south ; while by the bughting-pen 
Rose the blithe sound of flocks and hounds and men, 
At summer dawn and gloaming ; or the voice 
Of children nutting in the hazelly den, 
Sweet mingling with the wind's and water's noise, 
Attuned the softened heart with nature to rejoice. 

Upon the upland height a mouldering Tower, 
By time and outrage marked with many a scar, 
Told of past days of feudal pomp and power 
When its proud chieftains ruled the dales afar. 
But that was long gone by : and waste and war, 
And civil strife more ruthless still than they, 
Had quenched the lustre of Glen-Lynden's star — 
Which glimmered now, with dim declining ray, 
O'er this secluded spot, — sole remnant of their sway. 

A grave mild husbandman was Lynden's lord, 
Who, smiling o'er these wrecks of grandeur gone, 
Had for the plough-share changed the warrior's sword 
Which, like his sires, he erst had girded on. 
And on his toils relenting Fortune shone, 
And blessed his fruitful fields and fleecy store ; 
And she he loved in youth, and loved alone, 
Was his : ah, what could wealth have added more, 
Save pride and peevish cares which haunt the rich man's door \ 



THE EMIGRANTS. 103 

Vain wealth or rank could ne'er have won such love 
As that devoted bosom's — lofty, warm, — 
Which, while it blooms below, puts forth above 
Celestial shoots secure from earthly harm. 
And now his pleasant home and pastoral farm 
Are all the world to him : he feels no sting 
Of restless passions ; but, with grateful arm, 
Clasps the twin cherubs round his neck that cling, 
Breathing their innocent thoughts like violets in Spring. 

Another prattler, too, lisps on his knee, 
The orphan daughter of a hapless pair, 
Who, voyaging upon the Indian sea, 
Met the fierce typhon-blast — and perished there : 
But she was left the rustic home to share 
Of those who her young mother's friends had been ; 
And old affection thus enhanced the care 
With which those faithful guardians loved to screen 
This sweet forsaken flower, in their wild arbours green. 

With their twin children dark-eyed Helen grew — 
(Arthur and Anna were the kindred twain)— 
And she, the engrafted germ, appeared to view 
So like a younger sister, that 'twere pain 
To think that group should ever part again : 
They grew, like three fair roses on one stalk, 
In budding beauty yet without a stain : 
So the fond parents said in kindly talk, 
Nor dreamt how frowning fate their blooming hopes would 
balk. 

But dark calamity comes aye too soon — ■ 
And why anticipate its evil day ? 
Ah, rather let us now in lovely June 
CTerlook these happy children at their play : 



104 



THE EMIGRANTS. 



Lo, where they gambol through the garden gay, 
Or round the hoary hawthorn dance and sing, 
Or, 'neath yon moss-grown cliff, grotesque and grey, 
Sit plaiting flowery wreathes in social ring, 
And telling wondrous tales of the green Elfin King. 

And Elfin lore and ancient Border song 
The mother, smiling o'er the eager train, 
Would often chant in winter evenings long— 
And oft they pressed the pleasing task again : 
But still she warned them that such tales were vain, 
And but the dotage of a darker time ; 
And urged them better knowledge to attain 
While yet their pliant minds were in their prime, 
And open for the seed of scripture truth sublime. 

Then would she tell — and in far other tone — 
Of evil times gone by and evil men — 
" When they who worshipped God must meet alone 
At midnight, in the cleugh or quaking-fen, 
In peril and alarm, — for round them then 
Were ranging those who hunted for their blood : 
Ay ! long shall we remember ! — In this glen, 
From yon grim cavern where the screech-owls brood 
Our ancestor was dragged, like outlaw from the wood ! 

"He died a victim ; and his ancient lands, 
Held by Glen-Lynden's lords since Bruce's day, 
Have passed for ever to the spoiler's hands ! " — 
— u Hush thee !" the father then would gently say ; 
" 'Twas Heaven's good pleasure we that debt should pay- 
Perchance for guilt of those fierce feudal lords, 
Who, void of pity, when they shared the prey, 
Full often in the balance flung their swords, 
And wasted orphans' lands with their marauding hordes." 






THE EMIGRANTS. 



105 



Such was their talk around the evening hearth: 
And mildly thus, as the young playmates grew, 
They taught them to join trembling with their mirth ; 
For life is but a pilgrim's passage through 
A waste, where springs of joy are faint and few: 
Yet, lest this thought their hearts too much o'ercast, 
They oft would turn to lightsome themes anew : 
For youth's hilarity we must not blast, 
But lead it kindly on to wisdom's paths at last. 

Fain would I linger 'mong those fairy bowers, 
Aloof from manhood's feverish hopes and fears, 
Where Innocence among the vernal flowers 
Leads young Delight, aye laughing through his tears ; 
But lo ! the cruel spectre Time appears, 
Half hid amidst the foliage bright with bloom, 
Weaving his ceaseless web of hours and years, 
Still onward dyed with deeper hues of gloom — 
And Death behind stands darkly — pointing to the tomb ! 

Ay ! Time's harsh hand for youth nor age will stay— 
And I must hasten with my lagging strain. 
Years steal on years : the locks are wearing grey 
On either parent's brow : the youthful train 
Have long outgrown their childish pastimes vain : 
On Arthur's manly features we may trace 
High thought and feeling, checked by anxious pain ; 
And, in each timid maiden's milder face, 
Some shade of pensive care with woman's opening grace. 

So young — so innocent — can grief's dark cloud 
Thus early o'er their hearts its shadow fling ? 
Affliction's angel, though he crush the proud, 
Might pass the humble with relenting wing ! 



106 THE EMIGRANTS. 

Yet death has not been here ; nor hath the sting 
Of baleful passion touched one gentle breast : 
Whence then can venomed care and sorrow spring, 
In this calm seat of love and pious rest ? 
And the dear parent twain — why look they so distressed ? 

Ah ! evil clays have fallen upon the land : 
A storm that brooded long has burst at last ; 
And friends, like forest trees that closely stand, 
With roots and branches interwoven fast, 
May aid awhile each other in the blast ; 
But as when giant pines at length give way 
The groves below must share the ruin vast, 
So men, who seemed aloof from Fortune's sway, 
Fall crushed beneath the shock of loftier than they. 

Even so it fared. And dark round Lynden grew 
Misfortune's troubles ; and foreboding fears, 
That rose like distant shadows, nearer drew, 
O'ercasting the calm evening of his years : 
Yet still amidst the gloom fair Hope appears, 
A rainbow in the cloud. And, for a space, 
Till the horizon closes round, or clears, 
Returns our tale the enchanted paths to trace 
Where Youth's fond visions rise with fair but fleeting grace. 

Far up the dale, where Lynden s ruined towers 
O'erlooked the valley from the old oak wood, 
A lake, blue-gleaming from deep forest bowers, 
Spread its fair mirror to the landscape rude : 
Oft by the margin of that quiet flood, 
And through the groves and hoary ruins round, 
Young Arthur loved to roam in lonely mood ; 
Or, here, amid tradition's haunted ground, 
Long silent hours to lie in mystic musings drowned. 



THE EMIGRANTS. 107 

Bold feats of war, fierce feuds of elder times, 
And wilder Elfin legends, — half forgot, 
And half preserved in uncouth ballad rhymes,—- 
Had peopled with romantic tales the spot : 
And, here, save bleat of sheep, or simple note 
Of shepherd's pipe far on the upland lone, 
Or linnet in the bush and lark afloat 
Blithe carolling, or stock-dove's plaintive moan, 
No sound of living thing through the long day was known. 

No sound — save, aye, one small brook's tinkling dash 
Down the grey mossy cliffs ; and, midst the lake, 
The quick trout springing oft with gamesome plash ; 
And wild ducks rustling in the sedgy brake ; 
And sighing winds that scarce the willows shake ; 
And hum of bees among the blossomed thyme ; 
And pittering song of grasshoppers — that make 
Throughout the glowing meads their mirthful chime ; 
All rich and soothing sounds of summer's fragrant prime. 

Here, by the fairy brooklet's sylvan side, 
Young Arthur, deep-entranced in poets 1 dream, 
His bosom's bashful ecstacy to hide 
Would fling him by the hazel-margined stream, 
Giving free fancy rein, — till twilight's gleam 
Died in the rosy west ; the summer-day 
All, all too brief for the enthusiast theme, 
Though voice nor verse gave utterance to the lay 
That from the up-gushing fount of rapture welled away. 

Not sounding verse, but sweet and silent tears, 
Poured forth unbidden far from mortal eye, 
Formed the pure offering of the blissful years 
When first he woed the enchantress, Poesy 



108 THE EMIGRANTS. 

And found for glowing thought expression high 
In moaning forest and deep -murmuring flood, 
In every gorgeous cloud that streaked the sky, 
In every beauteous hue that tinged the wood, 
In each expressive change of Nature's fitful mood. 

Thus passed his lonely hours the dreaming boy, 
Erewhile, romantic reveries to frame ; 
Or read adventurous tales with thrilling joy, 
Till his young breast throbbed high with thirst of fame ; 
But with fair manhood's dawn Love's tender flame 
'Gan mingle with his minstrel musings high ; 
And trembling wishes, — which he feared to name, 
Yet oft betrayed in many a half-drawn sigh, — 
Told that the hidden shaft deep in his heart did lie. 

And there were eyes that from long silken lashes 
With stolen glance could spy his secret pain, — 
Soft hazel eyes, whose dewy light out-flashes 
Like joyous day-spring after summer rain : 
And she, sweet Helen, loved the youth again 
With maiden's first affection, fond and true. 
— Ah ! youthful love is like the tranquil main, 
Heaving 'neath smiling skies its bosom blue — 
Beautiful as a spirit — calm but fearful too ! 

And forth they wander, that fair girl and boy, 
To roam in gladness through the summer bowers ; 
Of love they talk not, but love's tender joy 
Breathes from their hearts like fragrance from the flowers 
Elysium opens round them ; and the hours 
Glide on unheeded, till grey Twilight's shade 
Wraps in its wizard shroud the ivied towers, 
And fills with mystic shapes the forest glade — 
And wakes " thick-coming fancies" in strange guise arrayed. 



THE EMIGRANTS, 109 

And oft they linger those lone haunts among, 
Though darker fall the shadows of the wood, 
And the witch-owl invokes with fitful song 
The phantom train of Superstition's brood. 
A gentle Star lights up their solitude, 
And lends fair hues to all created things ; 
And dreams alone of beings pure and good 
Hover around their hearts with angel wings — 
Hearts, like sweet fountains sealed, where silent rapture 
springs. 

I may not here their growing passion paint, 
Or their day-dreams of cloudless bliss disclose : 
I may not tell how hope deferred grew faint, 
When griefs and troubles in far vista rose : 
As the woods tremble ere the tempest blows, 
How quaked their hearts (misled by treacherous fears) 
When that fell nightmare of the soul's repose, 
Green Jealousy his snaky crest uprears, 
Whose breath of mildew blights the cherished faith of years. 



'Tis Autumn's pensive noon : no zephyr's breath 
The withered foliage in the woods is shaking ; 
Their feeble song the mournful birds bequeath 
To the sere coverts they are fast forsaking. 
And now their last farewell that pair are taking ; 
For Arthur, bound to Indian climes, must leave 
These early haunts. Each silent heart is breaking — 
Yet both attempt to hide how much they grieve — 
And each, deceived in turn, the other doth deceive ! 

How can they part \ — The lake, the woods, the hills, 
Speak to their pensive hearts of early days ; 



110 THE EMIGRANTS. 

Remembrance wooes them from the haunted rills, 
And hallows every spot their eye surveys ; 
Some sweet memorial of their infant plays, 
Some tender token of their bashful loves, 
Each rock, and tree, and sheltered nook displays : 
How can they part I — Nature the crime reproves, 
And their commingling souls to milder purpose moves ! 

For what were life — ah, what were weary life, 
Without each other, in this world of care ? 
A voyage through wild seas of storm and strife, 
Without an aim for which to struggle there. 
But, blessed in wedded hopes, how sweet to share 
The gladness or the grief that life may bring ! 
Then join, relenting Love ! this gentle pair ; 
Let worldly hearts to gold and grandeur cling ; 
Around the lowly cot thy turtles sweetest sing. 

Yes ! they shall part no more ! Those downcast eyes, 
And blushes mantling o'er the changeful cheek — 
The plighted kiss — the tears — the trembling sighs — 
The head upon his arm declining meek — 
Tell, far more tenderly than words can speak, 
How that devoted heart is all his own ! 
Oh, Love is eloquent ! — but language weak 
To paint the feelings to chaste bosoms known, 
When Transport's heavenly wings are sweetly round them 
thrown ! 

And now the lake, the hills, the yellow woods, 
Are bathed in beauty by the parting ray : 
Through earth and air a hallowed rapture broods. 
And starting tears confess its mystic sway : 
As home they wend, amidst the year's decay, 



THE EMIGRANTS. Ill 

Some magic spell the hues of Eden throws 
O'er every scene that, on their outward way, 
Told but of pleasures past and coming woes ; 
Such the enchanted radiance heartfelt bliss bestows. 

Oh Nature ! by impassioned hearts alone 
Thy genuine charms are felt. The vulgar mind 
Sees but the shadow of a Power Unknown : 
Thy loftier beauties beam not to the blind 
And sensual throng, to grovelling hopes resigned : 
But they whom high and holy thoughts inspire, 
Adore thee, in celestial glory shrined 
In that diviner fane where Love's pure fire 
Burns bright, and Genius tunes his rapt immortal lyre ! 



Change we once more the strain. The sire has told 
The heart-struck group of dark disaster nigh : 
Their old paternal home must now be sold, 
And that last relic of their ancestry 
Resigned to strangers. Long and strenuously 
He strove to stem the flood's o'erwhelming mass ; 
But still some fresh unseen calamity 
Burst like a foaming billow —till, alas ! 
No hope remains that this their sorest grief may pass. 

" Yet be not thus dismayed. Our altered lot 
He that ordains will brace us to endure. 
This changeful world affords no sheltered spot, 
Where man may count his frail possessions sure : 
Our better birthright, noble, precious, pure, 
May well console for earthly treasures marred, — 
Treasures, alas ! how vain and insecure, 
Where none from rust and robbery can guard : 
The wise man looks to heaven alone for his reward." 



112 



THE EMIGRANTS. 



The Christian father thus. But whither now 
Shall the bewildered band their course direct ? 
What home shall shield that matron's honoured brow, 
And those dear pensive maids from wrong protect ? 
Or cheer them 'mid the world's unkind neglect I 
That world to the unfortunate so cold, 
While lavish of its smiles and fair respect 
Unto the proud, the prosperous, the bold ; 
Still shunning want and woe ; still courting pomp and gold. 

Shall they adopt the poor retainer's trade, 
And sue for pity from the great and proud I 
No ! never shall ungenerous souls upbraid 
Their conduct in adversity — which bowed 
But not debased them. Or, amidst the crowd, 
In noisome towns shall they themselves immure, 
Their wants, their woes, their weary days to shroua 
In some mean melancholy nook obscure \ 
No ! worthier tasks await, and brighter scenes allure. 

A land of climate fair and fertile soil, 
Teeming with milk and wine and waving corn, 
Invites from far the venturous Briton's toil : 
And thousands, long by fruitless cares foreworn, 
Are now across the wide Atlantic borne, 
To seek new homes on Afric's southern strand : 
Better to launch with them than sink forlorn 
To vile dependence in our native land ; 
Better to fall in God's than man's unfeeling hand ! 

With hearts resigned they tranquilly prepare 
To share the fortunes of that exile train. 
And soon with many a follower, forth they fare — 
High hope and courage in their hearts again : 
And now, afloat upon the dark-blue main, 



THE EMIGRANTS. Jl 18 

They gaze upon the fast -receding shore 

With tearful eyes — while thus the ballad strain, 

Half heard amidst the ocean's weltering roar, 

Bids farewell to the scenes they ne'er shall visit more : — 

" Our native Land— our native Vale — 
A long and last adieu ! 
Farewell to bonny Lynden-dale, 
And Cheviot-mountains blue ! 

kt Farewell, ye hills of glorious deeds, 
And streams renowned in song ; 
Farewell, ye blithesome braes and meads 
Our hearts have loved so long. 

" Farewell, ye broomy elfin knowes, 
Where thyme and harebells grow ; 
Farewell, ye hoary haunted howes, 
O'erhung with birk and sloe. 

iw The battle- mound, the Border-tower, 
That Scotia's annals tell ; 
The martyr's grave, the lover's bower — 
To each — to all — farewell ! 

" Home of our hearts ! our fathers' home ! 
Land of the brave and free ! 
The keel is flashing through the foam 
That bears us far from thee : 

" We seek a wild and distant shore 
Beyond the Atlantic main ; 
We leave thee to return no more, 
Nor view thy cliffs again : 



114 THE EMIGRANTS. 

" But may dishonour blight our fame, 
And quench our household fires, 
When we, or ours, forget thy name, 
Green Island of our Sires i 

" Our native Land — our native Vale— 
A long, a last adieu ! 
Farewell to bonny Lynden-dale, 
And Scotland's mountains blue."" 



EPHEMERIDES 

PARTI. 

JUVENILE POEMS. 



i 2 



VOUCHSAFE IN WORTH THIS SMALL GUIFT TO RECEAUE, 

WHICH IN YOUR HANDS AS LOWLYE PLEDGE I LEAUE 

OF PURPOSED THEME, IN SCOTIA'S PASTORAL GUISE ; 

IF SO THE MUSE SHALL E'ER THE DREAMES FULFILL 

WITH WHICH SHE ERST HATH CHARMD MY TRANCED EYES : 

NOT THAT MY LINES MAY FOR SUCH THEMES SUFFICE ; 

FOR THEREUNTO DOTH NEED A GOLDEN QUILL, 

AND SILUER LEAUES, THEM RIGHTLY TO DEUISE ; 

BUT TO MAKE HUMBLE PRESENT OF GOOD WILL ; 

WHICH, WHEN AS TIMELY MEANES IT PURCHASE MAV, 

IN AMPLER WISE ITSELFE WILL FORTH DISPLAY. 

( Altered from Spenser. ) 

Edinburgh, January 5th, 1819. 



1J7 



THE AUTUMNAL EXCURSION 

(a poetical epistle to a friend.) 



Hie inter flumina nota 
Et t'ontes sacros 



Dear Story, while the southern breeze 
Floats, fragrant, from the upland leas, 
Whispering of Autumn's mellow spoils, 
And jovial sports and grateful toils, — 
Awakening in the softened breast 
Regrets and wishes long supprest, — 
O, come with me once more to hail 
The scented heath, the sheafy vale, 
The hills and streams of Teviotdale. 
— 'Tis but a parting pilgrimage, 
To save, from Time's destroying rage, 
And changeful Fortune's withering blast, 
The pictured relics of the Past. 

Then come, dear Comrade ! — welcome still 
In every change of good or ill ; 
Whom young affection's wishes claim, 
And friendship ever finds the same ; 
Awake, with all thy flow of mind, 
With fancy bright and feelings kind, 
And tune with me the rambling lay, 
To cheer us on our mountain way. 



118 



THE AUTUMNAL EXCURSION. 

Say, shall we wander where the swain, 
Bent o'er his staff, surveys the plain, 
With ruddy cheek and locks of grey, 
Like patriarch of the olden day ? — 
Around him ply the reaper band, 
With lightsome heart and eager hand : 
And mirth and music cheer the toil ; 
While sheaves that stud the russet soil, 
And sickles gleaming in the sun, 
Tell, jocund Autumn is begun. 

I love the blithesome harvest morn, 
Where Ceres pours her plenteous horn : 
The hind's hoarse cry from loaded car, 
The voice of laughter from afar, 
The placid master's sober joy, 
The frolic of the thoughtless boy ; 
Cold is the heart when scenes like these 
Have lost their genial power to please. 
But yet, my friend, there is an hour 
(Oft has thy bosom owned its power) 
When the full heart, in pensive tone, 
Sighs for a scene more wild and lone. 
Oh then, more sweet on Scotland's shore 
The beetling cliff, the breaker's roar, 
The moorland waste, where all is still 
Save wheeling plover's whistle shrill, — 
More sweet the seat by ancient stone 
Or tree with lichens overgrown, — 
Than richest bower that Autumn yields 
'Midst merry England's cultured fields. 

Then, let our pilgrim footsteps seek 
Old Cheviot's pathless mossy peak ; 



THE AUTUMNAL EXCURSION. 119 

For there the Mountain Spirit still 
Lingers around the lonely hill, 
To guard his wizard grottoes hoar 
Where Cimbrian sages dwelt of yore ; 
Or, shrouded in his robes of mist, 
Ascends the mountain's shaggy breast, 
To seize his fearful seat — upon 
The elf-enchanted Hanging Stone 1 , 
And count the kindred streams that stray 
Through the broad regions of his sway : — 
Fair sister streams, that wend afar 
By rushy mead or rocky scaur, 
Now hidden by the clustering brake, 
Now lost amid the mountain lake, 
Now 7 clasping, with protective sweep, 
Some mouldering castle's moated steep ; 
Till issuing from the uplands brown, 
Fair rolls each flood by tower and town ; 
The hills recede, and on the sight 
Swell the bold rivers broad and bright. 

The eye — the fancy almost fails 
To trace them through their thousand vales, 
Winding these Border hills among, 
(The boast of chivalry and song,) 
From Bowmont's banks of softest green' 2 
To the rude verge of dark Lochskene 3 . 
— 'Tis a heart-stirring sight to view, 
Far to the westward stretching blue, 
That frontier ridge, which erst defied 
The invader's march, or quelled his pride ; 
The bloody field, for many an age, 
Of rival nations' wasteful rage ; 
In later times a refuge given 
To outlaws in the cause of Heaven *. 



120 THE AUTUMNAL EXCURSION. 

Far inland, where the mountain crest 
Overlooks the waters of the west, 
And 'mid the moorland wilderness, 
Dark moss-cleughs form a drear recess, 
Curtained with ceaseless mists, which feed 
The sources of the Clyde and Tweed ; 
There, injured Scotland's patriot band 
For Faith and Freedom made their stand ; 
When traitor Kings, who basely sold 
Their country's fame for Gallic gold, — 
Too abject o'er the free to reign, — 
Warned by a Father's fate in vain, — 
In bigot frenzy trampled down 
The race to whom they owed their crown.— 
There, worthy of his masters, came 
The despots' champion, Bloody Graham 6 , 
To stain for aye a warrior's sword, 
And lead a fierce though fawning horde. 
The human bloodhounds of the earth 
To hunt the peasant from his hearth ! 
— Tyrants ! could not misfortune teach 
That man had rights beyond your reach ! 
Thought ye the torture and the stake 
Could that intrepid spirit break, 
Which even in woman's breast withstood 
The terrors of the fire and flood ! — 

Ay ! — though the sceptic's tongue deride 
Those martyrs who for conscience died ; 
Though modish history blight their fame, 
And sneering courtiers hoot the name 
Of men who dared alone be free 
Amidst a nation's slavery ; 
Yet long for them the poet's lyre 
Shall breathe its notes of heavenly fire ; 



THE AUTUMNAL EXCURSION. 121 

Their names shall nerve the patriot's hand 

Uprear'd to save a sinking land ; 

And piety shall learn to burn 

With holier transport o'er their urn ! — 

But now, all sterner thoughts forgot, 
Peace broods upon the peasant's cot ; 
And if tradition still prolongs 
The memory of his father s wrongs, 
'Tis blent with grateful thoughts that borrow 
A blessing from departed sorrow. 

How lovely seems the simple vale 
Where lives our sires' heroic tale ! 
Where each wild pass and wandering flood 
Was hallowed by the patriot's blood ; 
And the cold cavern once his tent, 
Is now his deathless monument, — 
Rehearsing, to the kindling thought, 
What faith inspired and valour wrought ! 
— Oh, ne'er shall he whose ardent prime 
Was fostered in the freeman's clime, 
Though doomed to seek a distant strand, 
Forget his glorious native land — 
Forget these storied hills and streams, 
Scenes of his youth's enthusiast dreams ! 
Sequestered haunts — so still — so fair — 
That Holy Faith might worship there, 
And Error weep away her stains, 
And dark Remorse forget his pains ; 
And Homeless hearts, by fortune tost 
Or early hopeless passion crost, 
Regain the peace they long had lost ! 



J 22 THE AUTUMNAL EXCURSION. 

Then, let us roam that lovely land, 
By Teviot's lone, historic strand 
By sylvan Yair, by Ettrick's glens, 
By haunted Yarrow's 'dowie dens ;' 
Till, with far- circling steps we hail 
Thy native Bowinont's broomy dale, 
And reach my boyhood's birchen bowers 
'Mong Cayle's fair cottages and towers 6 . 

Sweet Cayle ! like voice of years gone by, 
I hear thy mountain melody ; 
It comes with long-forgotten dreams 
Once cherished by thy pastoral streams ; 
And sings of school-boy rambles free, 
And heart-felt young hilarity ! 
I see the mouldering turrets hoar 
Dim gleaming on thy woodland shore, 
Where oft, afar from vulgar eye, 
I loved at summer tide to lie ; 
Abandoned to the witching sway 
Of some old bard's heroic lay ; 
Or poring o'er the immortal story 
Of Roman and of Grecian glory. 
But aye one minstrel charmed me more 
Than all I learned of classic lore, 
Or war and beauty gaily blent 
In pomp of knightly tournament, — 
Even he, in rustic verse, who told 
Of Scotland's champion — Wallace bold — 7 
Of Scotland's ancient " luve and lee," 
And Southrons' cruel treachery ! 
— And oft I conned that Harper's page 
With old hereditary rage, 
Till I have wept, in bitter mood, 
That now no more, in English blood, 



THE AUTUMNAL EXCURSION. 12, 

My country's falchion might atone 

The warrior's fall and widow's moan ! 

— Or 'neath the oak's broad-bending shade, 

With half-shut eye-lids musing laid, 

(Weaving in fancy's tissue strange 

The shapeless visions of revenge !) 

I conjured back the past again — 

The marshalled bands ; the battle plain ; 

The Border slogan's pealing shout ; 

The shock, the tumult, and the rout ; 

Victorious Scotland's bugle blast ; 

And charging knights that hurry past ; 

Till down the dim-withdrawing vale 

I seemed to see their glancing mail, 

And hear the fleet barb's furious tramp 

Re-echoed from yon ancient camp. 

But chief, when summer Twilight mild 
Drew her dim curtain o'er the wild, 
I loved beside that ruin grey 
To watch the dying gleam of day. 
And though, perchance, with secret dread, 
I heard the bat flit round my head, 
While winds that waved the long lank grass 
With sound unearthly seemed to pass, 
Yet with a pleasing horror fell 
Upon my heart the thrilling spell ; 
For all that met the ear or eye 
Breathed such serene tranquillity, 
I deemed nought evil might intrude 
Within the saintly solitude. 
— Still vivid memory can recall 
The figure of each shattered wall ; 
The aged trees, all hoar with moss, 
Low-bending o'er the circling fosse ; 



124 THE AUTUMNAL EXCURSION. 

The rushing of the mountain flood ; 
The ring-doves cooing in the wood ; 
The rooks that o'er the turrets sail ; 
The lonely curlew's distant wail ; 
The flocks that high on Hounam rest ; 
The glories of the glowing west. 

And, tinged with that departing sun, 
To Fancy's eye arises dun 
Lone Blaiklaw, on whose trenched brow, 
Yet unprofaned by ruthless plough, 
The shaggy gorse and brown heath wave 
O'er many a nameless warrior's grave. 
— Yon ridge, of yore, which wide and far 
Grleain'd like the wakeful Eye of War, 
And oft, with warning flame and smoke, 
Ten thousand spears to battle woke, 
Now down each subject glen descries 
Blue wreaths from quiet hamlets rise, 
To where, soft-fading on the eye, 
Tweed's cultured banks in beauty lie, 
Wide waving with a flood of grain, 
From Eildon to the eastern main. 
— Oft from yon height I loved to mark, 
Soon as the morning roused the lark, 
And woodlands raised their raptured hymn, 
That land of glory spreading dim ; 
While slowly up the awakening dale 
The mists withdrew their fleecy veil, 
And tower, and wood, and winding stream, 
Were brightening in the orient beam. 
— Yet where the westward shadows fell, 
My eye with fonder gaze would dwell ; 
Though wild the view, and brown and bare, ~ 
Nor castled halls, nor hamlets fair. 
Nor range of sheltering woods, were there— 



THE AUTUMNAL EXCURSION. 125 

Nor river's sweeping pride between, 
To give expression to the scene. 
There stood a simple home, — where swells 
The meadow sward to moory fells, — 
A rustic dwelling, thatched and warm, 
Such as might suit the upland farm. 
A honeysuckle clasped the sash, 
Half shaded by the giant ash : 
And there the wall-spread apple-tree 
Gave its white blossoms to the bee, 
Beside the hop-bower's twisted shade 
Where age reclined and childhood played. 
Below, the silvery willows shook 
Their tresses o'er a rambling brook, 
That gambolled 'mong its banks of broom, 
Till lost in Lerdan's haunted gloom, 
Methinks I hear that streamlet's din 
Where straggling alders screen the linn, 
Gurgling into its fairy pool, 
With pebbled bottom clear and cool. 
Full oft, in boyhood, from its marge 
I loved to launch my mimic barge, 
And laughed to see it deftly sail ; 
While faithful Chevy wagged his tail, 
And, moved with sympathetic glee, 
Would bounce and bark impatiently, 
Until I bade him plunge and swim 
To bring it dripping to the brim. 

From Teviot's richer dales remote 
The traveller's glance would scarcely note 
That simple scene, — or there espy 
Aught to detain his wandering eye : 
But partial memory pictures still 
Each bush and stone that specked the hill ; 



J 26 THE AUTUMNAL EXCURSION. 

The braes with broom and copsewood green 
The rocky knolls that rose between ; 
The fern that fringed each fairy nook ; 
The mottled mead ; the mazy brook, 
That, underneath its ozier shade- 
Still to the wild its music made. 

Beside that brook, among the hay, 
I see an elfin band at play ; 
Blithe swinging on the green-wood bough ; 
Or guiding mimic wain and plough : 
Intent a summer booth to build ; 
Or tilling each his tiny field : 
Or, proudly ranged in martial rank, 
In rival bands upon the bank, 
With rushy helm and sword of sedge, 
A bloodless Border War to wage. 

Anon, with lapse of circling years, 
In other guise that group appears. 
As childhood's gamesome mood gives place 
To manly thought and maiden grace. 
Beneath yon rock with lichens hoar, 
Of fabled Elves the haunt of yore, 
They sit beside the Fairy's Spring. 
I hear the low winds whispering 
The mournful ballad's simple strain ; 
Or breathing flute awakes again 
The echoes of each sylvan grot, 
With many a sweetly -melting note. 

Or, from the chambers of the north, 
Comes Winter with his tempests forth ; 
Athwart the shivering glebe to fling 
The blinding snow-drift from his wing ; 



THE AUTUMNAL EXCURSION. 127 

Shrouding, with many a fleecy fold, 

The bosky dell and battle wold ; 

While, banished from his half-ploughed field 

The hind essays the flail to wield ; 

And o'er the hills, the perilous road 

Alone by shepherd's foot is trod, 

Who gathers on the furzy heath, 

His flocks dug from the smothering wreath : — 

Then, was it joy indeed to meet 

With long-loved friends in that retreat ; 

And that bleak upland dell's recess 

Could charm in winter's wildest dress : 

Whether the mountain speat has drowned, 

With mingling floods, the meadow ground, 

And through their hundred sluices break 

The headlong torrents to the Lake ; 

Or the choked streamlet's deafened flow 

Is hushed in crystal caves below, 

And down the cliffs the trickling rills 

Congeal in columned icicles. 

But when day's hasty steps retire, 
Still sweeter by the blazing fire, 
In that low parlour's narrow bound, 
To draw the social circle round ; 
Where no unwelcome step intrudes, 
To check the heart's unstudied moods. 
— Round flows the rural jest ; the tale 
Of Cloister in fair Clifton dale ; 
Of Weeping Spirit of the Glen s ; 
Or Dragon of dark Wormed en ; 
Of Ladies doomed by Rome's command 
To sift the Church-yard mound of sand, 
By penance drear to wash away 
Foul murder's dire anathema. 



128 



THE AUTUMNAL EXCURSION. 

—Or graver history's pregnant page, 
Or traveller's venturous toils engage ; 
Or poet's lay the bosom warms, 
With virtue's praise and nature's charms, 
And faithful loves and feats of arms. 

And 'midst that friendly circle now 
I mark a Youth with open brow, 
And thoughtful blue eyes beaming mild, 
And temples wreathed with clusters wild 
Of light brown hair. The pensive grace 
Upon his features, seems the trace 
Of thought more tender and refined 
Than dawns upon the vulgar mind : 
But oft across his blooming cheek 
Flushes a quick and hectic streak, 
Like that which, in an Indian sky, 
Though cloudless, tells of danger nigh ! 
Deepening — until the gazer start, 
As if he saw Fate's shadowy dart, 
Foredoomed to strike from life and fame 
The latest of a gentle name ! 

How fearful to affection's view 
That blush more bright than beauty's hue- 
Where, sad as cypress wreath, the rose 
Amid Consumption's ruin glows, 
Bedecking with deceitful bloom 
The untimely passage to the tomb ! 



Rememberest thou, my Friend, the hour 
When some strange sympathetic power 
Once led from far our wandering feet 
At that Monastic Mound to meet ? 



THE AUTUMNAL EXCURSION. 

— Where slopes the green sward to the west, 

We sat upon the tomb where rest 

My kindred's bones,— conversing late 

Of Man's mysterious mortal state. 

'Twas summer eve, serene and still ; 

The broad moon rose behind the hill, 

Blending her soft and soothing ray 

With the last gleam of closing day : 

Amid the circling woods alone 

Was heard the stockdove's plaintive moan, 

And streamlet's murmur gliding by ; 

All else was calm in earth and sky. 

The scene was such as fancy paints 

For visit of departed saints — 

And sure if that sublime controul 

Which thrills the deep chords of the soul — 

If tears of joy 'midst grief — could prove 

The ministry of sainted love — 

Our hearts in that blest hour might dare 

To own some heavenly presence there ! 

Yes still, dear Friend ! (although it seem 
To worldly minds a childish dream) 
When life is o'er — I love to think 
There still may last some mystic link 
Between the Living and the Dead, — 
Some beam from better regions shed 
To lighten with celestial glow 
The pilgrim's darkling path below : 
Or, if 'tis but a vain belief, 
Framed by the phantasies of grief, 
A loftier solace is not vain — 
Death -parts us but to meet again ! 

Ah, while amid the world's wild strife 
We yet may trace that sweeter life, 



129 



130 THE AUTUMNAL EXCURSION. 

Now fading like a lovely dream, — 

Why cannot Memory too redeem 

The feelings pure, the thoughts sublime, 

That sanctified our early prime I — 

Alas ! like hues of breaking day 

The soul's young visions pass away ; 

And elder Fancy scarce may dare 

To image aught again so fair — 

As when that Mothers warblings wild 

Had soothed to rest her sickly child, 

And o'er my couch I dreamt there hung 

Celestial forms, with seraph tongue 

Who told of purer happier spheres, 

Exempt from pain, unstained with tears ! 

Or, waking lone at midnight deep,' 

When heaven's bright host their vigils keep, 

I viewed with meek mysterious dread 

The moon -beam through the lattice shed — 

Deeming 'twas God's eternal Eye, 

Bent down to bless us from on high ! 

And when that gentlest human Friend 
No more her anxious eye could bend 
On one by young affliction prest 
More close to her maternal breast, 
I deemed she still beheld afar 
My sorrows from some peaceful star, — 
In slumber heard her faintly speak, 
And felt her kiss upon my cheek. 
And oft, when through the solemn wood 
My steps the schoolway path pursued, 
I paused beneath its quiet shade 
To view the spot where she was laid, 
And pray, like hers, my life might be 
From all ungentle passions free, — 



THE AUTUMNAL EXCURSION. 

It seemed as if I inly felt 
That still her presence round me dwelt, 
And awed me with a holy dread, 
Lest I should sin and grieve the dead. 

O sainted Spirit ! — (if thy care 
An earthly wanderer yet may share !) 
Still in celestial dreams return 
To bid faith's failing embers burn — 
While yet unquenched the smoking brand 
By worldly passion's wasting hand ! 
Oh still, — although around my breast 
The snaky coils of care are prest, — 
Let fond remembrance oft restore 
Each long-lost friend endeared of yore, 
And picture o'er the scenes where first 
My life and loveliest hopes were nurst ; 
The heaths which once my fathers trod, 
Amidst the wild to worship God ; 
The tales which fired my boyish eye 
With patriot feelings proud and high ; 
The sacred sabbath's mild repose ; 
The social evening's saintly close, 
When ancient Zion's solemn song 
Arose the lonely banks among ; 
The music of the mountain rills ; 
The moonlight sleeping on the hills ; 
The Starry Scriptures of the sky, 
By God's own finger graved on high 
On Heaven's expanded scroll — whose speech 
To every tribe doth knowledge teach, 
When silent Night unlocks the seals, 
And to forgetful Man reveals 
The wonders of eternal might 
In living lines of glorious light ! 



k 2 



131 



132 THE AUTUMNAL EXCURSION. 

Nor yet shall faithful memory fail 
To trace the shepherd's homelier tale 9 ; 
For well I loved each simple strain 
Rehearsed by that kind-hearted swain, 
Of sports where ho a part had borne 
In boyhood's blithe and cloudless morn ; 
Or pious words and spotless worth 
Of friends who long have left the earth : 
Or legends of the olden times, 
And rural jests, and rustic rhymes : 
While aye as he the story told 
Of Scotland oft betrayed and sold, 
With ancient grudge his wrath would glow 
Against that " faithless Southron foe ! " 

Nor shall the enthusiast dreams decay 
Which charmed the long and lonely day, 
When, wrapt in chequered Border cloak, 
On Blaiklaw's ridge I watched the flock, 
(What time the harvest toils detain 
The Shepherd with the reaper train : ) 
When, far remote, I loved to lie 
And gaze upon the flecker'd sky, 
Amid the mountain thyme's perfume, 
Where boundless heaths of purple bloom, 
Heard but the zephyr's rustling wing 
And wild -bee's ceaseless murmuring, 
— 'Twas there, amid the moorlands wild, 
A Fairy found the mountain child, 
And oped to its enchanted eyes 
Imagination's Paradise. 



Even as I muse my bosom burns, 
The Past unto my soul returns ; 



THE AUTUMNAL EXCURSION. 133 

And lovely, in the hues of truth, 

Return the Scenes, the Friends of Youth ! 

I see the dusky track afar, 

Where, lighted by the evening star, 

I sought that home of early love. 

The balmy west-wind stirs the grove, 

And waves the blossom 'd eglantine 

I taught around its porch to twine. 

I hear kind voices on the breeze, 

From the green bower of cherry-trees. 

The sire — the kindred band I see — 

They rise with smiles to welcome me ! 

— Again sweet Fancy's dream is gone, 

And 'midst the wild I walk alone ! 

Now scattered far the smiling flowers 
That grew around these rustic bowers : 
Ungentle hearts, and strangers rude, 
Have passed along its solitude ! 
The hearth is cold, the walls are bare, 
That heard my grandsire s evening prayer — 
Gone even the trees he planted there ! 
— Yet still, dear Friend, methinks 'twere sweet 
To trace once more that loved retreat ; 
Still, there, where'er my footsteps roam, 
' My heart untravelled' finds a home : 
For 'midst these Border Mountains blue, 
And Vales receding from the view, 
And lonely Lakes and misty Fells, 
Some nameless charm for ever dwells, — 
Some spirit that again can raise 
The visions of Departed Days, 
And thoughts unuttered — undefined — 
That gleamed across my infant mind ! 



134 THE AUTUMNAL EXCURSION. 

— O, lovely was the blest controul 

Which came like music o'er my soul, 

While, there, — a rude untutored boy, 

With heart tuned high to Nature's joy, — 

Subdued by beauty's winning form, 

Or kindling 'midst the mountain Storm, — 

Alive to Feeling's gentle smart, 

Which wakes but does not wound the heart,- 

I dreamt not of the workings deep 

Of wilder passions yet asleep I 

Long from those native haunts estranged, 
My home but not my heart is changed — 
Amid the city's feverish stir 
'Tis still a mountain- wanderer ! 
And though (if bodings be not vain) 
Far other roamings yet remain, 
In climes where, 'mid the unwonted vales, 
No early friend the wanderer hails, 
Nor well-known hills arise to bless 
His walks of pensive loneliness ; 
Yet still shall fancy haunt with you 
The scenes beloved when life was new, 
And oft with tender zeal return, 
By yon deserted tomb to mourn ; 
For, oh, whatever the lot may be 
In Fate's dark book reserved for me, 
I feel that nought in later life, — 
In Fortune's change, or Passion's strife, 
Or proud Ambition's boundless grasp, — 
This bosom with a tie can clasp, 
So strong — so sacred — as endears 
The Scenes and Friends of Early Years ! 

Edinburgh : August, 181], 



STREAMS, WHOSE LONELY WATERS GLIDE. 



Streams, whose lonely waters glide 
Down Glen-Lynden's wizard dell. 
Woods that clothe the mountain's side, 
Winged wanderers of the fell, 
Tell me in what flowery glade 
Shall I find my favourite Maid ! 

Echo of the haunted rock. 

Heard'st thou not my Azla's song ? 
Sought she not the plighted oak 
Lynden's briary banks among \ 
Lingers she by airy steep ? 
Or elfin lakelet still and deep ? 

Rover of the land and sea, 

Zephyr ! whither dost thou fly ! 
Bear\st thou home the loaded bee ? 
Or the lover's secret sigh ? 
Hast thou not my Azla seen 
Through all the mazes thou hast been \ 

Didst thou perfume, O gentle gale ! 

In Araby, thy fragrant breath ? 
In sweeter Teviot's thy my vale ? 
On Lynden's hills of blossom'd heath ? 
Or, Zephyr ! hast thou dared to sip 
The sigh of love from Azla's lip ? 



136 STREAMS, WHOSE LONELY WATERS GLIDE. 

Young Azla's eye of tender blue 

Outvies the crystal fountain bright, — - 
Her silken locks of sunny hue, 

The birch-tree's foliage floating light ; 
And light her form as bounding fawn y 
Just wakened by the vernal dawn. 

Like youthful Spring's refreshing green, 

Like dewy Morning's smile of gladness, 
The radiance of her look serene 

Might win to joy the soul of sadness, 
But where in nature shall I find 
An Image for my Azla's mind I 

The azure depths of summer noon 

Might paint her pure and happy breast : 
Yet, like the melancholy moon, 
She loveth pensive pleasures best, 
And woos the fairy solitudes 
Embosomed in the leafy woods. 

The melodies of air and earth, 

The hues of mountain, wood, and sky, 
And Loneliness more sweet than Mirth, 
That leads the mind to musings high, 
Give to the sweet enthusiast's face 
The charm of more than earthly grace t 

But tell me now, ye Woods and Streams, 

Fond Echo, and thou sighing Gale, 
Why She, the Fairy of my dreams, 
Thus in her plighted faith doth fail 2 
Of all of you I'll jealous be 
Should she forget our Trysting Tree ! 



A GRACEFUL FORM, A GENTLE MIEN. 

Ah no ! She fails not ! 'Mong these bowers 

Young Love, I ween, delights to dwell, 
And spends his most entranced hours 
In Contemplation's hermit cell ; 
Where votaries of gentle mood 
Find him with Truth and Solitude. 



137 



A GRACEFUL FORM, A GENTLE MIEN, 



A graceful form, a gentle mien, 
Sweet eyes of witching blue ; 

Dimples where young Love nestles in, 
Around a ' cherry mou : , 

The temper kind, the taste refined, 
A heart nor vain nor proud ; 

A face, the mirror of her mind, 
Like sky without a cloud : 

A fancy pure as virgin snows, 

Yet playful as the wind ; 
A soul alive to others 1 woes, 

But to her own resigned : 

This gentle portraiture to frame 
Required not Fancy's art : 

But do not ask the lady's name — - 
'Tis hidden in my heart. 



1.38 



THE LEGEND OF THE ROSE. 



Lady, one who loves thee well 

Sent me here with thee to dwell ; 

I bring with me thy lover's sigh, 

I come with thee to live and die ; 

To live with thee, beloved, carest — 

To die upon that gentle breast ! 

— Sweeter than the myrtle wreath, 

Of Love and Joy my blossoms breathe— 

Love whose name thy breast alarms, 

Yet who heightens all thy charms, — 
Who lends thy cheek its orient dyes, 
"Who triumphs in thy bashful eyes — 
'Twas from him I borrowed, too, 
My sweet perfume, my purple hue ; 
His fragrant breath my buds exhale ; 
My bloom — Ah, Lady ! list my tale. — 

I was the summer's fairest pride, 
The Nightingale's betrothed Bride ; 
In Indian bower I sprung to birth 
When Love first lighted on the earth, 
And then my pure inodorous blossom 

Blooming on its thornless tree, 
Was snowy as his Mother's bosom 

Rising from the emerald sea. 



THE LEGEND OF THE ROSE. 1 39 

Young Love, rambling through the wood, 
Found me in my solitude, 
Bright with dew and freshly blown, 

And trembling to fond Zephyrs sighs ; 
But, as he stopt to gaze upon 

The living gem with longing eyes, 
It chanced a Bee was busy there 
Searching for its fragrant fare ; 
When Cupid stooping, too, to sip, 
The angry insect stung his lip — 
And, gushing from the ambrosial cell, 
One bright drop on my bosom fell ! 

Weeping, to his Mother he 
Told the tale of treachery ; 
And she, her vengeful boy to please, 
Strung his bow with captive bees ; 
But placed upon my guiltless stem 
The poisoned stings she plucked from them — 
And none, since that eventful morn, 
Has found the flower without a thorn ! 

Yet even the sorrows Love doth send 
But more divine enchantment lend : 
Still in Beauty's sweetest bowers 
Blooms the Rose, the Queen of Flowers, 
Brightening with the sanguine stains, 
Borrowed from celestial veins, — 
And breathing of the kiss she caught 
From Love's own lips with rapture fraught ! 



140 



THE WREATH. 



I sought the garden's gay parterre, 
To cull a wreath for Mary's hair ; 
And thought I surely there might find 
Some emblem of her lovely mind, 
Where taste displays the varied bloom 
Of Flora's beauteous drawing-room. 

And, first, of peerless form and hue. 
The stately Lily caught my view, 
Fair bending from her graceful stem 
Like queen with regal diadem : 
But though I viewed her with delight, 
She seemed too much to woo the sight,- 
A fashionable belle — to shine 
In some more courtly wreath than mine. 

I turned, and saw a tempting row 
Of flaunting Tulips full in blow — 
But left them with their gaudy dyes 
To Nature's beaux— the butterflies. 

Bewilder'd 'mid a thousand hues, 
Still harder grew the task to choose : 
Here, delicate Carnations bent 
Their heads in lovely languishment, — 
Much as a pensive Miss expresses, 
With neck declined, her soft distresses ! 
There, gay Jonquilles in foppish pride 
Stood by the Painted- Lady's side, 



THE WREATH. 141 

And Hollyhocks superbly tall 
Beside the Crown-Imperial : 
But still, 'mid all this gorgeous glow, 
Seemed less of sweetness than of show, 
While close beside in warning grew 
The allegoric Thyme and Rue. 

There, too, stood that fair-weather flower, 
Which, faithful still in sunshine hour, 
With fervent adoration turns 
Its breast where golden Phoebus burns — 
Base symbol (which I scorned to lift) 
Of friends that change as fortunes shift ! 

Tired of the search, I bent my way 
Where Teviot's haunted waters stray ; 
And from the wild-flowers of the grove 
I framed a garland for my Love. 
The slender circlet first to twine, 
I plucked the rambling Eglantine, 
That decked the Cliff in clusters free, 
As sportive and as sweet as she : 
I stole the Violet from the brook, 
Though hid like her in shady nook, 
And wove it with the mountain Thyme — 
The myrtle of our stormy clime : 
The Blue-bell looked like Mary's eye ; 
The Blush-rose breathed her tender sigh : 
And Daisies, bathed in dew, exprest 
Her innocent and gentle breast. 

And, now, my Mary's brow to braid, 
This chaplet in her bower is laid — 
A fragrant emblem, fresh and wild, 
Of simple Nature's sweetest child. 



142 



FRAGMENTS 



A DREAM OF FAIRY-LAND. 



FYTTE I. 

" And see not ye that bonny road 

" That winds about the fernie brae ? 
" That is the road to fair Elfland, 

" Where thou and I this night maun gae." 

Thomas the Rhymer. 

Thro countreis seir, holtis and roclds hie, 
Ouir vaillis, planis, woddis, wallie sey, 
Ouir fluidis fair, and mony strait mountane, 
We war caryit in twinkling of ane ee ; 
Our charett flew, and raid nocht, as thocht me. 

Gawin Douglas. 



^Twas in the leafy month of June, 
Ere yet the lark hath hushed his tune ; 
When fair athwart the summer sky 
Bright fleecy clouds sail softly by, 
And sweeping shadows lightly pass, 
Like spirits dancing o'er the grass ; 
And new-fledged birds are in the bowers, 
And bees are humming round the flowers, 
And through the meads is heard the stir 
Of the blithe chirring grasshopper : 



A DREAM OF FAIRY-LAND. 143 

'Twas sweet Midsummer Eve : I lay 

Alone by Eildon's haunted brae, 

Soothed by the sound of woods and streams ; 

While, fitful as the shifting gleams, 

Of sunshine o'er the forest glade, 

Poetic fancies round me played ; 

And young lovers tender reveries 

Came fluttering, like the fragrant breeze, 

Or wild-dove's wing among the trees. 

Thus slumber found me : and I fell 

Into a trance, as if some spell 

Had rapt my willing soul away 

From its cast slough of earthly clay : 

Was waking mortal ne'er so blest — 

Then, gentle Azla, ' list, O list !' 

Methought a Maid of heavenly mien, 
Whose garb bespoke the Elfin Queen, 
Appeared — and, with a winning smile 
Might well the wariest heart beguile, 
Waved o'er me thrice her magic wand, 
And summoned me to Fairy-Land. 
Who could resist the charming Elf? 
She seemed the while my Azla's self ! 

Now, seated in her winged car, 
We lightly speed o'er realms afar, 
Where alpine ridges wildly rise, 
With glaciers gleaming to the skies, 
Or sandy deserts, scorched and dun, 
Stretch boundless 'neath a fiery sun. 
Her fair hand guides the magic rein, 
While buoyantly o'er mount and plain, 
And over ocean's trackless tides, 
Our car like a swift comet glides : 



144 A DREAM OF FAIRY-LAND. 

Till far beyond the Western Deep 
And fair Hesperides we sweep ; 
Then launch upon the Enchanted Sea, 
Which laves the Land of Faerie. 

At length, when daylight long has passed, 
And the short night is waning fast, 
We leap upon the star-lit strand 
Of a remote and shadowy land ;* 
Where mountains rear their summits bold 
From dark umbrageous forests old ; 
And streamlets flow with lulling sound 
Through verdant valleys opening round ? 
And breathing myrtles softly twine 
Their branches with the clustering vine ; 
And zephyrs wave with fragrant wing 
The tresses of immortal Spring. 

Ah Lady ! in that lovely Isle 

How sweet, methought, to live with Thee ! 
Where summer skies for ever smile, 

And sighing gales just stir the sea, 
The silvery sea without a bound 
That clasps th 1 Elysian Isle around ! 

vt* vf- VF ^f % ^ 



A DREAM OF FAIRY-LAND, 145 



FYTTE II. 

Within an Yle methought I was — 

Ful thick of grasse ful soft and swete, 

"With flouris fele fare undir fete, 

And lytel used, it seemed thus. 

For bothe Flora and Zephyrus, 

They two that makin flouris growe, 

Had made ther dwelling there, I trowe. — 

— And many a hart and many a hinde 

Was both before me and behind, 

Of fawnis, sowirs, buckis, does, 

Was ful the wodde, and many roes, 

And many squirrillis, that sete 

Ful high upon the trees and ete. 

Chaucer's Dreame. 

'Tis day-break ! Lo, the Morning Star 
Looks o'er the brightening peaks afar ; 
And now we wander, hand in hand, 
Along the shell- besprinkled strand, 
To watch Aurora's footsteps dim 
Come dancing o'er blue ocean's brim, 
With Zephyr, flinging in his mirth 
Fresh odours o'er the laughing earth : 
And now with upward gaze we mark, 
High poised in air, the minstrel lark, 
Warbling wild his thrilling strain, 
As if his breast could not contain 
The out-gushings of his boundless pleasure, - 
And, therefore, without stint or measure, 
From his oriel in the cloud, 
His joyous lay he singeth loud. 

Now we walk the groves among, 
Rich with fragrance, rife with song, 



146 A DREAM OF FAIRY-LAND. 

Where the woodbine breathes its balm 
"Neath the shadow of the palm ; 
Where the hum of early bee 
Sound eth from the citron tree ; 
And the squirrel, just awake, 
From his fur the dew doth shake, 
As he skips from oak to pine 
O'er festoons of eglantine. 
— Now, ere yet the sun may sip 
The fresh dew from the lily's lip, 
While the pheasant leaves the brake, 
While the wild swan seeks the lake, 
While the long cool shadows lean 
O'er the dell's delicious green, 
Lo, we trace the gurgling rills 
To their fountains in the hills ; 
Where the hart and hind are straying, 
Where the antelopes are playing, 
Where the flocks which need no folding 
Jocundly their games are holding, 
As if old Pan the watch were keeping, 
While the wanton kids are leaping, 
And the rocky cliffs resounding 
To their bold hoofs wildly bounding. 



A DREAM OF FAIRY-LAND. 147 



FYTTE III. 

There the wyse Merlin whylome wont (they say) 
To make his wonne, in fearful hollow place, 
Under a rock that lyes a little way 
From the swift river, tombling down apace 
Emongst the woody hilles — 
— And there that great magitian had deuiz'd, 
By his deep science and hell-dreaded might, 
A looking-glasse, right wondrously aguiz'd — 
— It vertue had to shew in peifect sight 
Whatever thing was in the world contaynd. 

Spenser's Faery Queene. 

But when up the middle heaven 

Sol his glowing car hath driven, 

From his fervid searching eye 

To the Enchanted Grot we hie, — 

Where a solemn river sounds, 

Deep amidst the forest bounds, 

And romantic rocks are seen 

Rising o'er the cedar screen. 

Like some temple's ruined pile 

Quarried in the cliffs of Nile, 

In the mount's basaltic side 

Opes the pillared portal wide ; 

Grooved with sculpture strange and quaint — 

Hieroglyphic figures faint, 

Interlaced with graceful twine 

Of amaranth and jessamine. 

At the touch of magic wand, 
Slow the granite gates expand ; 
And, extending far aloof, 
Inward springs the arched roof 
l 2 



148 A DREAM OF FAIRY-LAND. 

O'er the high and echoing hall, 
Circled by its columned wall 
With stalactite frieze bedight : 
Fitting lustres dimly light 
The dome with gleam of sparry gems, 
Like jewelled stars and diadems 
Pendent from the pictured ceiling, — 
Gorgeous tracery revealing, 
Sketched in nature's arabesque 
With necromantic shapes grotesque, 
Never seen by sea or land, 
Never graved by human hand. 
— Through that rich and stately room 
Hangs a soft yet solemn gloom, 
Like the meditative shade 
By primeval forests made ; 
While, with coral crusted o'er, 
Spreads the fair mosaic floor, 
Round whose ample verge, I ween, 
Ne'er was creeping creature seen. 

But, behold, an inner aisle 
Opens from this shadowy pile, 
Deep into the Stygian gloom 
Of the mountain's cavern ed womb ; 
Whence the rushing of a river 
Sounds upon the ear for ever, 
Like some prophet's solemn strain 
Warning guilty worlds in vain. 
—I turned ; and to my asking eye 
Thus the Fairy made reply : 
"'Tis the ceaseless Stream of Time, 
Flowing on its path sublime 
To the dim and shoreless sea 
Of fathomless Eternity : 



A DREAM OF FAIRY-LAND. 149 

Light as foam on ocean's tide, 
Mortals on its current glide ; 
Nor could an archangel's force 
For an instant stay its course. 1 '' 

While I listen, slowly rise 
Wilder wonders to my eyes : 
Strange unearthly light is streaming 
Down that Delphic cave — and, gleaming 
From its dim chaotic shelves, 
The Magic Mirror of the Elves 
Emerges from the mystic shroud, 
Like the broad moon from a cloud. 

Slowly o'er the wizard glass 
Phantom shapes successive pass, 
Groups like these on Grecian Shrine 
Graved by sculptor's art divine, 
Proudly bearing spear and shield 
Helmed and harnessed for the field, 
— As more earnestly I look, 
Behold, as in a blazoned book, 
Pale History unfolds her page — 
Down from man's primeval age, 
Through the lapse of distant times, 
Round the wide globe's many climes. 
Blotted with ten thousand crimes. 
Still I view, where'er I scan, 
Man himself a wolf to man ; 
Thirsting for his brother s blood, 
From Abel's murder to the Flood — 
From Nimrod's huntings to the cry 
That rent the horror-stricken sky, 
When, yesterday, Napoleon's car 
Resistless swept the ranks of war, 



150 A DREAM OF FAIRY-LAND. 

And trampled Europe cowered beneath 
The murder-glutted scythe of death. 

The piteous scene I pondered well, 
Till darkness on my spirit fell ; 
Then, turning mournfully aside, 
I thus addressed my silent Guide : — ■ 
" Fair Spirit ! shut that page of woe : 
It is enough for me to know 
That thus, from Adam's day to ours, 
Man ever hath abused the powers 
Our bounteous Maker to him gave ; 
His brother's tyrant or his slave, 
Still miserable, weak or strong, 
Enduring or inflicting wrong ! 
— My soul is weary of the past : 
Prospectively the vision cast, 
That my prophetic gaze may trace 
The onward fortunes of our race : 
Or, from the hidden rolls of fate, 
Unfold the destinies that wait 
My country, on the perilous track 
Whence nations never voyage back." — 
Replied the Fay — " Thou seek'st to scan 
Dark knowledge all unmeet for man : 
Time's issues I may not reveal, 
Bound fast by Fate's mysterious seal. 
Let it content thee to explore 
The labyrinths of lawful lore ; 
And learn the Future to forecast 
From Wisdom's horoscope — the Past. 

# # # * # 

# # # # # 



A DREAM OF FAIRY -LAND. 151 



FYTTE IV. 

And all about grew every flower and tree, 

To which 9ad lovers were transformed of yore. — 

— Me seems of those I see the hapless fate 

To whom sweet poets' verse hath given endless date. 

Spenser's Faery Queene. 

The cool breeze from the billowy main- 
Breathes through the cedar groves again ; 
When from the grotto's mystic shade 
We fare into the forest glade, 
And through its wildering mazes glide 
Until we gain the farther side, — 
Whence the distant view descries, 
Dimly seen, the Vale of Sighs. 

Winding down, the pathway slow 
Leads us to that valley low, 
Deep amidst the mountains wending ; 
Where the silvery willows, bending 
O'er the melancholy stream, 
Like despairing damsels seem, 
With dishevelled tresses swinging, 
Evermore their white hands wringing. 
All along that lonesome glen, 
Tall grey stones like shapes of men, 
Rocks with tufts of myrtle crowned, 
Cast their shadows o'er the ground — 
Shadows strange that seem to fly, 
Ghost-like, from my earthly eye ; 
And, at times, a feeble wail 
Floats upon the sighing gale, 



152 A DREAM OF FAIRY-LAND. 

From those willows by the river 
With their tresses waving ever, 
Or the myrtle bowers above, 
Like voice of one who dies for love, 

As we silently pass on, 

Fair groups, upon the marble stone 

Graven with surpassing skill, 

The softened soul with pity fill : 

Many a scene of mournful mood, 

And acts of generous womanhood, 

Such as high bards in ancient days 

Sung to the lyre in tender lays, 

In magic sculpture tell their tale, 

Along that monumental vale, — 

Preserved from ravage or decay 

While crowns and empires pass away: 

— Full many a scene we linger o'er 

That thrilled the hearts of classic yore — 

Young Thisbe watching in the wood, 

Sweet Hero by wild Sestos' flood, 

Pale Dido in her frenzied grief, 

Deserted by the Trojan chief : 

For in that Vale of Sighs appear 

All scenes that waken pity's tear, 

All tragic tales of gentle strain 

Where woman's heart has bled in vain. 

— In vain ? No ! I the word recal : 

A lofty moral lives in all 

Those stories of the heart's devotion, 

Opening sources of emotion 

Deeper far than Love can boast 

Where his hopes have ne'er been crossed. 



A DREAM OF FAIRY-LAND. 



153 



At length, by the spell-guarded mount, 
Where gushes a bright river's fount 
Into the limpid pool below, 
We pause with faltering step and slow 
In that lone d ell's remotest bound, 
Arrested by a mournful sound ; 
For there, where clustering forests tall 
Embower the deep-voiced waterfall, 
Is heard the ever-moaning wail 
Of one forlorn. Her tragic tale 
In Grecian glen sweet Ovid found- 
The Nymph who faded to a sound 
For grief of unrequited love. 
And lo, her Naiad sisters rove 
For ever round the enchanted spot 
Where Echo holds her misty grot, 
Conversing with the viewless shade 
Hovering o'er that haunted glade. 
Oft as they tell her hapless story, 
Responsive from the cavern hoary, 
Loud wailing words of tender woe, 
Half heard amidst the waters'' flow, 
Murmur of love's deceitful arts, 
Of blighted forms and broken hearts, 
And woman's triumph pure and high 
In generous, deathless constancy ! 



164 A DREAM OF FAIRY-LAND. 



FYTTE V. 

What there thou seest, fair creature ! is thyself; 
With thee it came and goes : but follow ine, 
And I will lead thee where no shadow stays 
Thy coming. 

Paradise Lost. 

Learn by a mortal yearning to ascend 
Towards a higher object. — Love was given, 
Encouraged, sanctioned, chiefly for that end : 
For this the passion to excess was driven — 
That self might be annulled ; her bondage prove 
The fetters of a dream, opposed to love. 

Wordsworth's Laodamia. 



Issuing from that pensive vale, 
Soon an alpine scene we hail, 
Where Olympian peaks arise 
Towering to the bright blue skies, 
And a rock's romantic mound, 
By a ruined temple crowned, 
Overhangs the central tide 
Whence fair Elflands rivers glide. 
— Girt by cliff and shaggy brake, 
Softly lay that silent lake, 
In the mountain's stern embrace 
Sleeping in its simple grace, 
With a pure and placid breast, 
Like a dreaming child at rest. 

Leaning o'er its lilied side, 
Thus began my lovely Guide : 
" Listen to a legend hoar 
Of far-distant days of yore : 
And, while I the story tell, 
Ponder thou its purport well. 



A DREAM OF FAIRY-LAND. 155 

" When first this Eden of the deep, 
Was wakened from chaotic sleep, 
To be the destined dwelling-place 
Of those yclept the Elfin race ; 
(Beings formed by nature free 
From sin and sad mortality ; 
Yet by ties of mystic birth 
Linked unto the sons of Earth ;) 
On that bright primeval morn, 
She of Fays the eldest born, — 
Physis erst by mortals named, 
Later as Titania famed, — 
Roaming through her natal Isle, 
Came where yonder votive pile 
(A temple reared to Solitude 
By the young Naiads of the flood) 
O'erlooks the wave. With wondering eye, 
She sees what seems a downward sky 
Stretching far its depths of blue, 
With the stars dim-gleaming through, 
Whene'er the sun his brightness shrouds 
'Neath some veil of fleecy clouds, 
And the shadows come and go 
Athwart the liquid plain below. 
— As she gazes, still, behold, 
Marvels to her eyes unfold ; 
Massive rocks and towering mountains, 
With their woods and sparkling fountains, 
In the inverted landscape lie, 
Pointing to a nether sky. 

" Suddenly, with swan-like flight 
Launching from the cliffy height, 
On the buoyant air she springs, 
(Scorns an elf the aid of wings,) 



156 A DREAM OF FAIRY-LAND. 

In the middle space upborne, 

Like a cloudlet of the morn ; 

With her vesture floating free, 

And her locks luxuriantly 

Backward o'er her shoulders flung ; 

While her face and bosom young 

Forward bend with fearless pride 

To the fair illusive tide. 

— Wherefore, in her downward track, 

Starts the Fairy Virgin back — 

And, again, with fond surprise, 

W^aveward casts her wistful eyes ? 

Lo ! to meet her wildered gaze, 

Upwards through the lucid maze 

Swiftly glides a glorious creature, 

Sister-like in form and feature ; 

In her modest maiden charms, 

In her lovely locks and arms, 

In her eyes and graceful mien, 

An image of that Elfin Queen. 

— Fair Physis smiles — and from the wave 

The Form returns the smile she gave : 

She spreads her arms — with winning grace 

The Phantom offers her embrace : 

But when she fondly strives to clasp 

The beauteous Shade — it flies her grasp, 

Amidst the broken billows lost ; 

And all the enchanting scene is tost 

Fantastically, heaving wide 

Athwart the bosom of the tide ! 

" Abashed and sad, upon the strand 
The virgin stood — when accents bland 
Came, like sweet music on the wind, 
From amaranthine groves behind : — 



A DREAM OF FAIRY-LAND. 157 

4 Grieve no longer, gentle Elf, 

For that semblance of thyself ! 

All that meets the gaze below, 

Like that shade an empty show 

Formed to charm the finite sense, 

Faileth from the grasp intense 

Of creature longing for the love 

That looks below — but lives above. 

— Virgin ! upward lift thine eye 

Where the peak ascend eth high : 

Lo ! yon Mount of Vision towers 

O'er Elysium's blissful bowers, 

Where the flower of beauty bloweth, 

Where the fruit immortal groweth. 

Behold, I come thy path to guide 

Up the mountain's rugged side, 

Where for thee thy Lover waits 

By the Enchanted Palace gates : 

Tis no shadow there that meets thee — 

,r Tis thy glorious bridegroom greets thee, 

With that pure celestial love 

Blessed Genii own above. 1 " 

# # * # * * 

# -# # * * •*■ 



158 



A DREAM OF FAIBY-LAND, 



FYTTE VI. 

O pure of heart ! thou need'st not ask of me 

What this strong music in the soul may be ! 

What, and wherein it doth exist, 

This light, this glory, this fair luminous mist. 

This beautiful, and beauty-making power— 

— Which wedding Nature to us gives in dower 

A new earth and new heaven, 

Undreamt of by the sensual and the proud. 

Coleridge. 

Now Hesper from the blushing west 
Leads that sweet hour I love the best, 
When birds their fluttering pinions fold, 
And wild- bees seek their honied hold, 
And deer that never heard a hound 
Across the verdant valleys bound, 
To couch among the banks of thyme 
Where greenwoods to the uplands climb. 
— Now by some lawny slope we linger, 
While quiet Eve with jealous finger 
Closes the curtains of the skies 
Till modest Dian deign to rise : 
Now by the murmuring beach we walk, 
Pausing oft in pensive talk, 
To list the hermit nightingale 
Entrancing all the moonlight vale : 
Or, from some sea-ward hanging steep, 

View boundless ocean round us swelling, 
Without a wish to cross the deep, 

Or leave again that lovely dwelling. 

" Behold," (thus spoke the bright-eyed Fay,) 
" Endeth now the Elfin dav : 



A DREAM OF FAIRY-LAND. 159 

Ere the star of morning gleams 
Thou must leave this Isle of Dreams : 
Yet, before the vision part, 
Mortal, let thy listening heart 
Devoutly learn to understand 
The scenes of this symbolic land ; 
For here a parable doth lie 
In all that meets the ear or eye." 



Ere she ceased, pale Dian's crest, 
Slowly waning in the west, 
Sank behind the shadowy hill ; 
And the nightingale was still 
On his fragrant orange bough. 
It is solemn midnight now ; 
And the silent landscape lies 
Hushed beneath the starry skies, 
Like a meek and gentle child 
Listening to his mother mild, 
While her earnest eyes above 
O'er him bend with looks of love, 
As she prayeth God to keep 
Watch around his midnight sleep. — 
Like such heart-hushed little one, 
Hung my listening soul upon 
Words (which I may not rehearse 
In this vain and idle verse) — 
Things with deepest meaning fraught 
By that Gentle Fairy taught, 
In whose mien I then might trace 
The sister of man's godlike race. 
Ere his half-angelic nature 
Lapsed into the lowlier creature, 



160 



A DREAM OF FAIRY-LAND. 



Ere the golden link was riven 
That upheld the heart to heaven, 
And the ethereal light grew dim 
Of the fallen seraphim ! 
— Lovely lessons there I read, 
There I learn a lofty creed, 
In the expression of a mind 
By a fearless faith refined, 
Such as we of mortal strain 
Beneath the stars may not attain, 
But such themes are all too high 
For this lay of Phantasy ; 
So I close the rambling rhyme 
Of my Flight to Fairy Clime. 



Fitting pause from minstrel task, 
Now, sweet Azla, let me ask : 
But if thou wilt deign to smile 
On this Dream of Elfin Isle, 
Haply, in an altered strain, 
I may touch the harp again ; 
Richer veins of thought revealing, 
Deeper springs of love unsealing, 
Where the Passions have their strife 
, Midst ' the bosom-scenes of life ; ' 
For the poet's art must borrow 
Spells of might from Fear and Sorrow, 
Since our nature seeks relief 
From Pleasure in ' the Joy of Grief. 1 



161 



LINES, 



WRITTEN ON HEARING OF THE DEATH OF AN EARLY 
FRIEND. 



Was this sad fate the only fruit 
Of thy brief, feverish life's pursuit ? 
To gain — for years in travel worn — 
For dangers braved and troubles borne — 
For all, 'mid mankind's conflicts rude, 
That chills the soul or chafes the blood — 
For wounded feeling's bitter smart — 
For scenes that wring or sear the heart — 
To gain — in a drear distant clime, 
A nameless grave before thy prime ! 

Was this — was this the bridal bed 
To which thy cruel mistress led — 
The Fiend Ambition % she who brings 
A chaplet wreathed with scorpion's stings 
To crown her lovers ! — she whose waist 
And bosom are with snakes enlaced ! 
Who scatters wide her victim's bones 
O'er blighting swamps — o'er burning zones- 
Where on the stranger's loveless bier, 
No friend shall drop a parting tear, 
Nor sister come to watch and weep, 
And break with sobs the silence deep ! 

Yet why o'er thy untimely urn 
With vain regret thus weakly mourn ? 

M 



162 LINES. 

Struck by the bolt that levels all, 
What recks it how or where we fall ? 
Are they not blest, the early dead, 
Wherever fate their pall may spread ? 
More blest than those whom long decay 
Detains — slow lingering by the way, 
Without a wish to wake the soul ; 
Yet shuddering at the dreary goal 
To which with viewless pace they steal, 
Dragged on by Time's resistless wheel, 
Watching each early comrade sink, 
Till they upon the desert brink 
Stand desolate ! 

Ay ! there are hours 
When life's horizon round us lowers — 
When yet afresh the wounds we feel 
Which Time may close, but cannot heal, 
That recklessly we seek relief 
By draining e'en the dregs of grief, 
(The bitter dregs which human pride 
Infuses in affliction's tide,) 
Repiningly upbraid the doom 
Which on our loved ones shuts the tomb, 
And half accuse long-suffering fate 
That opens not for us its gate. 

This morbid mood, then, shall we nurse, 
That in affliction finds a curse ? 
Shall we, when Providence destroys, 
Like Jonah's gourd, our cherished joys, 
The wisdom frowardly arraign 
That warps our web of life with pain ? 
No ! let us with a pious trust, 
Though bent by sorrow to the dust, 



A PARTING DIRGE. 163 



Confide, while we submissive bow, 
That He will cheer who chastens now ; 
And to a loftier faith give scope, 
Not mourn as those who have no hope. 



1813. 



A PARTING DIRGE. 



In joyous Love's delicious spring, 
I said, ' I will of sorrow sing ;' 
For hearts too happy seek relief 
From joy itself in fancied grief. 
Alas ! was there a Demon near, 
That listened with malignant ear, 
That looked on us with evil eye, 
And laughed at coming misery I 
Ah ! little wist I that my song 
Should be our parting dirge ere long ; 
And all thy lover's minstrel art 
The murmurs of a breaking heart ! 

So fondly loved— so sweetly won — 
And art Thou then for ever gone ! 
And what on earth remains behind 
To cheer the darkening waste of mind ? 
What wish can Wealth or Glory wake, 
Though once I prized them for thy sake ? 
Is there no balm by Friendship lent 
To heal the hearts which fate hath rent ? 
Can Fancy's power no spell combine 
To hide that parting look of thine I 
m 2 



164 A PARTING DIRGE. 

Ay, other feelings may control 
The inward current of the soul ; 
Passion in apathy may die, 
This lonely breast forget to sigh, 
And changes o'er my spirit pass — 
But ne'er the heart be what it was, 
Ere the fell fingers of Despair 
Had writ their cruel legend there ! 

And yet, had I again to choose, 
I scarce could wish this lot to lose ; 
Love, even though joy and hope are past, 
Retains enchantment to the last : 
But wherefore glows his living spark 
With rapture's light to set so dark ! 

I heard the tempest's rising wrath — 
But Thou wert then to light my path ; 
And what from Fortune could I fear, 
While hope was kind and Thou wert near ? 
While round us breathed Elysium's bloom, 
How could I heed the gathering gloom ? 
Sweet dwelt on mine thy melting eyes, 
Love's golden torch illumed the skies, 
And, dazzled by the enchanting ray, 
I thought the storm had passed away : 
Alas ! 'twas like the rainbow's beam, 
Quenched in the lightning's lurid gleam ! 



^65 



ELEGIAC STANZAS. 



Of thee to think — with thee to rove, 
In fancy, through the gentle bowers 

That witnessed once our vows of love, 
In joyous youth's enchanted hours : 

To picture manhood's ardent toils 
By love's endearing looks repaid ; 

While fancy culled her fairest spoils 
To deck thy home's domestic shade : 

To think how sweetly thy control 

Had soothed the wound that aches unseen ; 
While griefs that waste the secret soul 

Had passed — perhaps had never been ! 

To dream of hours for ever past, 
And all that ne'er again can be — 

My best beloved ; is this the last, 
The only solace left to me ? 

It must not be — I may not trust 

My fancy with the fond review — 
Go, perish in the silent dust, 

Ye dreams, that bright with transport grew ! 

Ay ! vain regrets shall soon be o'er, 
And sterner cares the tumult quell : 

And this lone bosom throb no more 
With love and grief's alternate swell. 



166 ELEGIAC STANZAS. 

Silent and sad, I go to meet 

What life may bring of woe or bliss ; 

No other hope can be so sweet, 
No parting e'er so sad as this ! 

Ambition's strife, — without an aim, — 
No longer can allure me now — 

I only sought the wreaths of fame 

To bind them round thy gentle brow ! 



167 



EPHEMERIDES. 

PART II. 

SONGS AND SONNETS. 



SONGS. 



LOVE AND SOLITUDE. 

Air — " Oh tell me the way how to woo." 

I love the free ridge of the mountain 
When Dawn lifts her fresh dewy eye ; 

I love the old ash by the fountain 

When Noon's summer fervours are high : 

And dearly I love when the grey-mantled gloaming 
Adown the dim valley glides slowly along, 

And finds me afar by the pine -forest roaming, 

A-list'ning the close of the grey-linnet's song. 

When the moon from her fleecy cloud scatters 

Over ocean her silvery light, 
And the whisper of woodlands and waters 

Comes soft through the silence of night, 
I love by the ruined tower lonely to linger, 

A -dreaming to fancy's wild witchery given, 
And hear, as if swept by some seraph's pure finger, 

The harp of the winds breathing accents of heaven ! 



168 



SONGS. 



Yet still, mid sweet fancies overflowing, 

Oft bursts from my lone breast the sigh — 
I yearn for the sympathies glowing 

When hearts to each other reply ! 
Come, Friend of my bosom ! with kindred devotion 

To worship with me by wild mountain and grove ; 
Oh, come, my Eliza I with dearer emotion — 

With rapture to hallow the chaste home of love ! 



ii. 

MAID OF MY HEART, A LONG FAREWELL. 

Air — " Logan Water." 

Maid of my heart — a long farewell ! 
The bark is launched, the billows swell, 
And the vernal gales are blowing free 
To bear me far from love and thee ! 

I hate Ambition's haughty name, 

And the heartless pride of Wealth and Fame ; 

Yet now I haste through ocean's roar 

To woo them on a distant shore. 

Can pain or peril bring relief 
To him who bears a darker grief? 
Can absence calm this feverish thrill \ 
— Ah, no ! — for thou wilt haunt me still ! 

Thy artless grace, thy open truth, 
Thy form that breathed of love and youth, 
Thy voice by Nature framed to suit 
The tone of Love's enchanted lute ! 



SONGS. 169 

Thy dimpling cheek and deep blue eye, 
Where tender thought and feeling lie ! 
Thine eye-lid like an evening cloud 
That comes the star of love to shroud ! 

Each witchery of soul and sense, 
Enshrined in angel innocence, 
Combined to frame the fatal spell — 
That blest and broke my heart ! — Farewell ! 



in. 

i'll bid my heart be still. 
Air—*' Farewell, ye fading flowers ! " 

Fll bid my heart be still, 
And check each struggling sigh ; 

And there's none e'er shall know 

My soul's cherish'd woe, 
When the first tears of sorrow are dry. 

They bid me cease to weep — 
For glory gilds his name ; 

But the deeper I mourn, 

Since he ne'er can return 
To enjoy the bright noon of his fame ! 

While minstrels wake the lay 
For peace and freedom won, 

Like my lost lover's knell 

The tones seem to swell, 
And I hear but his death-dirge alone ! 



170 



SONGS. 

My cheek has lost its hue, 
My eye grows faint and dim ; 

But 'tis sweeter to fade 

In griefs gloomy shade, 
Than to bloom for another than him ! 



O THE EWE-BUGHTING S BONNY*. 
Air — ^The Yellow -hair 1 d Laddie." 

O the ewe-bughting 's bonny, both e'ening and morn, 
When our blithe shepherds play on the bog-reed and horn ; 
While we 're milking they 're lilting sae jocund and clear ; 
But my heart's like to break when I think o' my dear 
O the shepherds take pleasure to blow on the horn, 
To raise up their flocks T the fresh simmer morn : 
On the steep ferny banks they feed pleasant and free — 
But alas ! my dear heart, all my sighing 's for thee ! 

O the sheep-herding 's lightsome amang the green braes 
Where Cayle wimples clear 'neath the white -blossomed slaes, 
Where the wild-thyme and meadow-queen scent the saft gale 
And the cushat croods leesomely down in the dale. 
There the lintwhite and mavis sing sweet frae the thorn, 
And blithe lilts the laverok aboon the green corn, 
And a' things rejoice in the simmer's glad prime — 
But my heart 's wi' my love in the far foreign clime ! 

* The first verse of this song is old. It was transcribed by the editor, from a 
fragment in the handwriting of the celebrated Lr.dy Grisel Baillie, inclosed in a letter 
written from Scotland to her brother Patiick, who was at that time an exile in 
Holland along with her father (afterwards Earl of Marchmont ) and her future 
husband, Baillie of Jerviswood. The style is not unlike that of her own sweet song 
— " O were na my heart light I wad dee." The other four verses are an attempt to 
complete the simple ditty in the same pastoral strain." — T. P. 



SONGS. 171 

O the hay-making "s pleasant, in bright sunny June — 
The hay-time is cheery when hearts are in tune — 
But while others are joking and laughing sae free, 
There 's a pang at my heart and a tear i 1 my ee. 
At e'en i 1 the gloaming, adown by the burn, 
Fu 1 dowie and wae, aft I daunder and mourn ; 
Amang the lang broom I sit greeting alane, 
And sigh for my dear and the days that are gane. 

O the days o 1 our youthheid were heartsome and gay, 
When we herded thegither by sweet Gaitshaw brae, 
When we plaited the rushes and puM the witch-bells 
By the Cayle's ferny howms and on Hounam's green fells. 
But young Sandy bood gang to the wars wi" the laird, 
To win honour and gowd — (gif his life it be spared !) 
Ah ! little care I for walth, favour, or fame, 
Gin I had my dear shepherd but safely at hame ! 

Then, round our wee cot though gruff winter sould roar, 
And poortith glowr in like a wolf at the door ; 
Though our toom purse had barely twa boddles to clink, 
And a barley-meal scone were the best on our bink ; 
Yet, he wi' his hirsel, and I wi' my wheel, 
Through the howe 0"* the year we wad fend unco weel ; 
Till the lintwhite, and laverok, and lambs bleating fain, 
Brought back the blithe time o" ewe~bughting again. 



172 



SONGS. 



V. 

MARY OF GLEN-FYNE. 
Gaelic Air — " O mo Mhairi Luogh." 

Oh, my lovely Mary ! Mary of Glen-Fyne ! 
Oh, my gentle Mary ! Mary, thou art mine ! 
Oh, enchanting maiden ! thou dost far outshine 
All xoho wear the plaiden in this glen of thine ! . 

By Loch-Moraig's wild wood young affection grew, 
Ere our simple childhood love's sweet language knew 
Kindness still grew stronger, till its depth was more 
Than was known to lovers in this world before ! 
Oh, my lovely Mary ! tyc. 

Cushats, fondly cooing, taught me how to woo ; 
The soft art of suing woodlarks taught me too ; 
And the laverok, thrilling in the sky above, 
Told the tender accents of impassioned love ! 
Oh, my lovely Mary ! fyc. 

I am but the herdsman of Loch-Moraig's flock ; 
She, my mountain rosebud, boasts no gentle stock ; 
But for rank or riches I shall ne^er repine 
While that priceless jewel, Mary's heart, is mine ! 
Oh, my lovely Mary ! 8fc. 



SONGS. 1 7*3 



VI. 



COME AWA, COME AWA ! 
Aiu — " Haud awafrae me, Donald." 

Come awa, come awa, 

An' o'er the march wi' me, lassie : 
Leave your Southron wooers a\ 

My winsome bride to be, lassie. 
Lands nor gear I proffer you, 

Nor gauds to busk ye fine, lassie, 
But I've a heart that's leal an" true, 

And a' that heart is thine, lassie. 

Come awa, come awa, 

An' see the kindly North, lassie, 
Out o'er the peaks o" Lammerlaw, 

An 1 by the links o' Forth, lassie ; 
And when we tread the heather bell 

Aboon Demayat lea, lassie, 
You'll view the land 6* flood and fell — 

The noble North Countrie, lassie ! 

Come awa, come awa, 

An' leave your Southland hame, lassie ; 
The kirk is near, the ring is here — 

An' I'm your Donald Grseme, lassie, 
Rock and reel and spinning wheel, 

And English cottage trig, lassie, 
Haste, leave them a', wi' me to speel 

The braes 'yont Stirling brig, lassie. 



174 SONGS. 

Come awa, come awa, 

I ken your heart is mine, lassie, 
And true luve sail make up for a 1 

For whilk ye might repine, lassie. 
Your father — he has gien consent, 

Your step-dame looks na kind, lassie — 
Oh, that our foot were on the bent, 

An 1 the Lowlands far behind, lassie ! 

Come awa, come awa ! 

Yell ne'er hae cause to rue, lassie ; 
My cot blinks blithe beneath the shaw, 

My bonny Avondhu, lassie : 
There's birk and slae on ilka brae, 

And brakens waving fair, lassie ; 
And gleaming lochs and mountains grey — 

Can aught wi 1 them compare, lassie ! 

Come awa, come awa, &c. 



VII. 

THE HIGHLANDS ! 

Am—" My hearCs in the Highlands.'" 

The Highlands ! the Highlands ! — O gin I were there ; 
Tho 1 the mountains an' moorlands be rugged an 1 bare, 
Tho' bleak be the clime, an 1 but scanty the fare, 
My heart's in the Highlands — O gin I were there ! 

The Highlands ! the Highlands ! — My full bosom swells 
When I think o' the streams gushing wild through the dells, 
And the hills towering proudly, the lochs gleaming fair ! 
My heart's in the Highlands ! — O gin I were there ! 



SONGS. 175 

The Highlands ! the Highlands ! — Far up the grey glen 
Stands a cozy wee cot, wi' a but and a ben, 
An 1 a deas at the door, wi' my auld mother there, 
Crooning — " Haste ye back, Donald, an' leave us nae mair !" 
The Highlands ! the Highlands ! &c. 



VIII. 
THE DARK-HAIRED MAID. 



Gaelic Air — " Mo Nighean dhu. " 

O sweet is she who thinks on me, 
Behind yon dusky mountain ; 

In greenwood bower, at gloaming hour, 
We'll meet by Morag^s Fountain. 

My hounds are on the hills of deer — 

My heart is in the valley, 
Where dark-hair 1 d Mary roams to hear 

The woodlarks singing gaily. 
O sweet is she, fyc. 

My hawks around the forest fly, 

And wonder that I tarry, 
While lone on thymy banks I lie 

And dream of dark-haired Mary ' 
sweet is she, fyc. 

Her step so light — her eye so bright — 
Her smile so sweet and tender — 

Her voice like music heard by night 
As o'er the wilds I wander ! 
O sweet is she, fyc. 



176 SONGS. 

Her neck which silken ringlets shroud — 
Her bosom's soft commotion — 

Like sea-mew hovering in the cloud, 
Or heaving on the ocean ! 
O sweet is she, fyc. 

Her heart as gay as fawn at play, 
Among the braes of braiken — 

Yet mildly dear as melting tear 
That minstrel tales awaken ! 
O sweet is she, fyc. 

And she is mine — the dark-haired Maid ! 

My bright, my beauteous Mary ! — 
The flower of Ardyn's lowly glade, 

Shall bloom in high Glengary ! 
sweet is she, fyc. 



IX. 

OH ! NOT WHEN HOPES ARE BRIGHTEST. 
Air— " The Rose Tree." 

Oh ! not when hopes are brightest 

Is all love's sweet enchantment known ; 
Oh ! not when hearts are lightest, 

Is all fond woman's fervour shown : 
But when life's clouds overtake us, 

And the cold world is clothed in gloom ; 
When summer friends forsake us, 

The rose of love is best in bloom. 



SONGS. 377 

Love is no wandering vapour, 

That lures astray with treacherous spark ; 
Love is no transient taper. 

That lives an hour and leaves us dark : 
But, like the lamp that lightens 

The Greenland hut beneath the snow, 
The bosom's home it brightens 

When all beside is chill below. 



x. 

PLEASANT TEVIOTDALE. 

Am — " Jock o' Hazeldean" 

Her light touch wakes the tuneful keys, 

She sings some simple lay, 
That tells of scenes beyond the seas, 

In Scotland far away, — 
By " Ettrick banks," or " Cowden knowes/' 

Or " The briery braes o' Cayle," 
Or " Maxwell's bonny haughs and howes," 

In pleasant Teviotdale. 

O gentle wind ('tis thus she sings) 

That blowest to the west, 
Oh could'st thou waft me on thy wings 

To the land that I love best, 
How swiftly o'er the ocean foam 

Like a sea-bird I would sail, 
And lead my loved one blithely home 

To pleasant Teviotdale ! 

From spicy groves of Malabar 

Thou greet'st me, fragrant breeze, 

What time the bright-eyed evening star 
Gleams o'er the orange trees ; 

N 



178 



SONGS. 

Thou com'st to whisper of the rose 

And love-sick nightingale — 
But my heart is where the hawthorn grows, 

In pleasant Teviotdale. 

that I were by Teviot side, 

As when in Springwood bovvers 

1 bounded, in my virgin pride, 

Like fawn among the flowers ; 
When the beauty of the budding trees, 

And the cuckoo's vernal tale, 
Awoke the young heart's ecstacies, 

In pleasant Teviotdale. 

O that I were where blue-bells grow 

On Roxburgh's ferny lea, 
Where gowans glent and crow-flowers blow 

Beneath the Trysting Tree ; 
Where blooms the birk upon the hill. 

And the wild -rose down the vale, 
And the primrose peeps by every rill, 

In pleasant Teviotdale. 

O that I were where Cheviot-fells 

Rise o'er the uplands grey, 
Where moors are bright with heather-bells, 

And broom waves o'er each brae ; 
Where larks are singing in the sky, 

And milkmaids o'er the pail, 
And shepherd swains pipe merrily, 

In pleasant Teviotdale. 

O listen to my lay, kind love — 

Say, when shall we return 
Again to rove by Maxwell grove, 

And the links of Wooden-burn I 



SONGS. 

Nay, plight thy vow unto me now, 
Or my sinking heart will fail — 

When I gaze upon thy pallid brow, 
Far, far from Teviotdale ! 

Oh haste aboard ! the favouring wind 

Blows briskly from the shore. 
Leave India's dear-bought dross behind 

To such as prize it more : 
Ah ! what can India's lacs of gold 

To withered hearts avail ? 
Then haste thee, love, ere hope wax cold, 

And hie to Teviotdale ! 



179 



XI. 

DEAREST LOVE ! BELIEVE ME. 
Gaelic Air — " O mo Mhairi luogh." 

Dearest love ! believe me, 

Though all else depart, 
Nought shall e'er deceive thee 

In this faithful heart : 
Beauty may be blighted, 

Youth must pass away, 
But the vows we plighted 

Ne'er shall know decay. 

Tempests may assail us 

From affliction's coast, 
Fortune's breeze may fail us 

When we need it most ; 

n2 



180 SONGS. 

Fairest hopes may perish, 
Firmest friends may change ; 

But the love we cherish 
Nothing shall estrange. 

Dreams of fame and grandeur 

End in bitter tears ; 
Love grows only fonder 

With the lapse of years : 
Time, and change, and trouble, 

Weaker ties unbind, 
But the bands redouble 

True affection twined. 






181 



SONNETS. 



In truth, the prison, unto which we doom 
Ourselves, no prison is ; and hence to me, 
In sundry moods, 'twas pastime to be bound 
Within the Sonnet's scanty plot of ground : 
Pleased if some Souls (for such there needs must be) 
Who have felt the weight of too much liberty, 
Should find short solace there, as I have found. 

Wordsworth. 



TO AN EARLY FRIEND. 

They called us brother bards : The same blue streams 
Witnessed our youthful sports : our tears have sprung 
Together, when those ancient tales were sung 
That tinged our fancy's first and sweetest dreams — 
Two simple boys bewitched with magic themes ! 
And still as riper years and judgment came, 
On mutual couch we planned our mutual schemes, 
Our tastes, our friendships, and our joys the same. 
But not the same our task : Thy venturous lyre, 
Which with the tide of genius swells or falls, 
Shall charm tumultuous camps and courtly halls, 
And rouse the warrior's arm and patriot's ire — 
While I shall chant my simple madrigals 
To smiling circles round the cottage fire. 

1812. 



182 SONNETS. 

IT. 
TO THE RIVER EARN. 

Thou mountain Stream, whose early torrent course 
Hath many a drear and distant region seen, 
Windest thy downward way with slackened force, 
As with the journey thou hadst wearied been ; 
And, all enamoured of these margins green, 
Delight'st to wander with a sportive tide ; 
Seeming with refluent current still to glide 
Around the hazel banks that o'er fchee lean. 
Like thee, wild Stream ! my wearied soul would roam 
(Forgetful of life's dark and troublous hour ) 
Through scenes where Fancy frames her fairy bower, 
And Love, enchanted, builds his cottage-home : 
But time and tide wait not — and I, like thee, 
Must go where tempests rage, and wrecks bestrew the sea ! 
1812. 

in. 

OF LOVE AND LOVe's DELIGHT. 

Of love and love's delight no more I sing ; 
Nor praise Eliza's soft bewitching eye, 
A nd sunny locks descending gracefully 
O'er that fair bosom, like an angel's wing 
Floating in light. Alas ! the joyous string, 
That breathed responsive to love's blissful sigh, 
111 suits the heart where hope and fancy die, 
Like flowers untimely blighted in their spring. 
Yet doth the memory of those gentle days 
In its fixed sadness soothe my darkened mind, 
And tempt oft-times to meditate the lays 
In hours of happiness for her designed, 
Whose lovely image, neither fates unkind, 
Nor time, nor absence, from my breast can raze. 



SONNETS. 

IV. 
LONG YEARS OF SORROW. 



18; 



Long years of sorrow and slow-wasting care 
Have stol'n from thy soft cheek its vermeil hue ; 
And somewhat changed the glossy locks that threw 
Their shadowy beauty round thy temples fair ; 
And lent to those sweet eyes a sadder air, 
That, from their long dark fringes laughing, blue, 
Once looked like violets fresh-bathed in dew, 
And seemed as they might even enchant despair ! 
Sickness and grief have touched thee ; yet so mildly, 
That though some graces of thy youth are gone, 
The loveliness that witched my heart so wildly 
In life's romantic spring— is still thine own : 
And those meek pensive eyes, in their revealings, 
Speak now of higher thoughts and deeper feelings. 



THE EMBLEM. 

Seest thou, beloved ! yonder cheerless Oak 
.bove the river's torrent -course reclined, 
here the fair ivy tenderly hath twined 
|ls arms around each bough the storm had broke, 
Liding the ravage of the thunder stroke, 
And shielding its young blossoms from the wind 2 
Vain care ! — for, by the current undermined, 
Beneath already nods th' unstable rock. 
Alas ! it is the emblem of our fate ; 
For oh ! I feel thee twined around my soul, 
Like yon green ivy o'er the wounded tree : 
And thou must leave me, ere it be too late — 
While I, in evil fortune's harsh controul, 
Drift down the stream of dark adversity. 



184 



SONNETS. 



VI. 



TO LORD LYNEDOCH, 

On his return to Spain, March 1813. 

Warrior — thou seek'st again the battle-field 
Where freedom hails afar thy soul of flame ; 
And falFn Iberia kindles at thy name, 
As 'neath the shade of England's guardian shield, 
She girds her armour on, and strives to wield 
Her long-forgotten lance. Yes, there thy fame 
Shall in the hymn of kindred hosts be sung 
Round Spain's romantic shores, when she hath thrust 
The Spoiler from her homes, and proudly hung 
Her falchion on the wall — no more to rust ! 
Bright gleams that vengeful blade, as when of yore 
It smote the Crescent on the Moslem's brow : 
Warrior ! she hails in thee her Cid once more, 
To conquer in a fiercer conflict now ! 

VII. 
TO A FEMALE RELATIVE. 

Lady, when I behold thy thoughtful eye 
Dwelling benignantly upon thy Child, 
Or hear thee, in maternal accents mild, 
Speak of Departed Friends so tenderly — 
It seems to me as years now long gone by 
Were come again, with early visions fraught, 
And hopes sublime, and heavenly musings, caught 
From those kind eyes that watch'd my infancy! 
Friend of my Mother ! often in my heart 
Thy kindred image shall with hers arise, 
The throb of holier feeling to impart ! 
And aye that gentle Maid, whom sweetest ties 
Of human care around thy soul entwine, 
Shall with a brother's love be bound to mine. 
1813. 



SONNETS. 185 

VIII. 

TO AFFLICTION. 

(Written during a dangerous Illness. ) 

O thou ! with wakening step and withering eye, 
And chalice drugg'd with wormwood to the brim, 
Who com'st to probe the nerve and rack the limb, 
And wring from bruised hearts the bursting sigh, — 
From thee in vain affrighted mortals fly ! 
Thou breath'st upon them, and their senses swim 
In giddy horror — while thy comrades grim, 
Anguish and Dread, their snaky scourges ply. 
Affliction ! though I fear and hate thy hand, 
And fain would shun the bitter cup thou bear'st, 
Physician harsh ! thy merits too I own ; 
For thou dispelFst illusions that withstand 
Milder coercion, — and the roots uptear'st 
Of cancerous ills that have the heart o'ergrown. 

IX, 

ON PARTING WITH A FRIEND GOING ABROAD. 

O, I could wish, in that light bark with thee, 
Now while the stormy night- wind rages loud, 
And the dim moon gleams through the dusky cloud, 
To travel o'er the wild and trackless sea ! 
What joy, before the strong gale drifting free, 
To feel the soul (long cumber'd 'mid the crowd 
Of earthward-pressing cares) emerging proud, 
To picture bliss and glory yet to be ! 
— And yet, with lingering gaze upon that shore, 
To weep for all the friendly hearts we leave — 
And leave even those we love not with a sigh — 
As parting spirits look to earth once more 
With human love —exulting while they grieve — 
From the dim Ocean of Eternity ! 



186 SONNETS. 

X. 

TO THE POET CAMPBELL. 

Campbell ! I much have loved thy fervid strain, 
Fraught with high thought, and generous feeling pure ; 
Rousing young hearts to dare, and to endure 
All things for Truth and Freedom ; to disdain 
Ambition's vulgar trophies — the vile train 
Of sordid baits that servile souls allure ; 
Intent a nobler guerdon to secure, 
And live like those who have not lived in vain. 
Ah ! wherefore silent that inspiring shell, 
Round which our souls with young entrancement hung ? 
The thrilling chords thy touch can wake so well 
To patriot strains — why slumber they unstrung I 
What, though thou hast achieved a deathless name ? 
God and mankind have yet a holier claim ! 
1819. 

XI. 

poets are nature's priests. 

Poets are Nature's Priests : their hallow' d eyes 
Behold her Mercy-Seat within the Veil ; 
From their melodious lips the nations hail 
Her oracles, and learn her mysteries. 
With pure and pious hearts, then let them prize 
Their consecration : Shall they hold for sale 
The gift of Heaven ? and tempt mankind to rail 
At glorious powers — profaned for lusts or lies ! 
Thus Phineas and Hophni dared profane 
God's altar — till their fathers house was cursed, 
And they destroy'd ; and even the Ark was ta'en 
From the lewd nation that such vileness nursed. 
Men highly privileged are prone to ill : 
Yet Israel then had Samuel — we have Wordsworth still. 
1820. 



187 



EPHEMERIDES. 

PART III. 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 



THE SPAEWIFE. 



Where Grubet's ancient copsewood skirts the vale, 
Fringing the thymy braes of pastoral Cayle, 
Near'to the spot where oft, in other times, 
Our gentle Thomson tuned his youthful rhymes, 
(Deserted now, for good Sir William's race 
Are ' wed away ' and ' gathered to their place ; ') 
Beyond the hamlet, 'neath an aged tree, 
Crooning some scrap of ballad minstrelsy, 
Sits the old crone — prepared with cunning tale 
To cozen simple damsels of the dale, 
Whose smiles but half conceal the fluttering qualm 
With which they yield in turn the anxious palm ; 
While o'er the pale, sly Sandy of the Mill 
Lends in a hint to help the gipsy's skill. 

Old Madge the Spaewife, though now worn and frail, 
Can travel still her rounds from Jed to Cayle ; 
With panniered donkey trudging o'er the moors 
To bear her almous-bag for winter stores ; 
While frugal housewives, scolding as they give 
The wonted handful, add — ' Poor Madge maun live ;' 



188 THE SPAEWIFE. 

And maidens, though demure, are willing still 

To purchase sixpence-worth of gipsy skill, 

Even at the hazard of a stern rebuke, 

Should such colleaguings meet some elder's look. 

— Thus Madge contrives to ' make a fend."* But time 

Has sadly changed her since her stalwart prime, 

When straight and tall, with locks like raven's wing, 

She roamed, the jocund mate of gipsy king ; 

Now bent and palsied, cowering in her cloak, 

While 'neath the hood steals out the silvery lock. 

We scarce can recognise the form and mien 

Of her who once was i every inch a queen.' 

Yet still she tells, as from the chimney nook 

She awes the rustics with a sibyl's look, 

How, in the blithe and boisterous days of old, 

Ere clanship's links were broke or blood grew cold, 

A hundred kinsmen drank her bridal ale 

To whom both Tweed and Tyne had paid black-mail ; 

And how her friends, from Humber to the Tay, 

Sped at her call to lykewake or to fray. 

" But times are changed, 1 ' she adds ; " Och ! weel I trow, 

Kin are grown fremit — blood's but water now ! " 

Poor Madge .'—And yet, perchance in other guise, 
Our own regrets are not a whit more wise. 
Comparing the dull present with the past, 
The afternoon of life seems overcast : 
Not that the sun his brightness has withdrawn, 
But we have lost the freshness of our dawn. 

Ay ! while I dally with this idle strain, 
Blithe schoolboy days come back to me again ; 
Th' adventurous rambles high o'er Hounam fells ; 
The feast of blaeberries by Wearied Wells ; 



THE SPA E WIFE. 18.9 

The harrying of hawk-nests on Grsemeslaw rock ; 

The hunts in Clifton woods of tod or brock ; 

Long quiet days of lonely angling sport ; 

Long hours by mirthful converse rendered short, — 

When by the Manse, beside the cherry trees, 

We tilled our little plots "niong flowers and bees, 

With hearts like that fair garden in the spring 

When buds unfold and birds break forth to sing ; 

And he, the good old pastor, smiling nigh, 

And lifting aye, at times, our thoughts on high — 

" How happily the years of Thalaba went by ! " 

But where 's our Spaewife ? — With her tawny brood, 
I see her sitting 'neath old Gaitshaw wood ; 
Her asses grazing down the broomy dale, 
And Faa, her husband, angling in the Cayle. 

Tis thirty years since, near that very spot, 
Just where the^stream sweeps round old Elshie's cot, 
Madge stopped me at the ford to spae my lot ; 
And, poring o'er my palm with earnest look, 
Said that my name should be in printed book ; 
For I (a scape -grace, then some nine years old) 
Should travel to far lands, and gather gold ; 
Should be a scholar — wed a " gentle bride " — 
And build a castle on fair Teviot's side : 
— " And this shall sooth betide," quoth black-browed Madge, 
" Ere nine times thrice the haw grows on the hedge f" 

My Sibyl's spae-weird, like Pelides' prayer, 
Was half fulfilled, half lost in empty air : 
I grew a scholar — such as Madge foretold ; 
Became a traveller — but caught no gold ; 
Was wedded — but (thank Heaven ! ) with happier fate 
Than to be matched with a patrician mate, 



190 LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM. 

Though here my fortune, faithful to the letter, 
Failing the gipsy's meaning, found a better. 
— But, castle-building ! — that has been my joy, 
In all my wanderings ever since a boy ; 
Not in the Greek or Gothic style restored, 
Or on Sir Walter's plan at Abbotsford, — 
But, scorning line and plummet, rule and square, 
I build ('tis most convenient) in the air ! 

1829. 



LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM 



This fair Volume to our eye 
Human life may typify. 
View the new-born infant's face 
Ere yet Mind hath stamped its trace, 
Or the young brain begun to think — 
'Tis like this book ere touched by ink. 
Look again : As time flows by 
Expression kindles in the eye, 
And dawning Intellect appears 
Gleaming through its smiles and tears ; 
Lightening up the living clay, 
Year by year, and day by day ; 
While the Passions, as they change, 
Write inscriptions deep and strange, 
Telling to observant eyes 
Life's eventful histories. 

Lady, even so thy book 
By degrees shall change its look, 



LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM. 191 

As each following leaf is fraught 
With some penned or pictured thought, 
Or admits the treasured claims 
Of endeared and honoured names ; 
While gleams of genius and of grace, 
Like fine expression in a face, 
Lend even to what is dark or dull 
Some bright tinge of the beautiful. 

Farther still in graver mood 
Trace we the similitude ? 
Apter yet the emblem grows 
As we trace it to a close. 
Life, with all its freaks and follies, 
Mummeries and melancholies, 
Fond conceits, ill-sorted matches, 
Is — a book of shreds and patches ; 
Stained, perchance, with many a blot, 
And passages were well forgot, 
And vain repinings for the past : 
While Time, who turns the leaves so fast, 
(The hour-glass in his other hand 
With its ever- oozing sand,) 
Presents full soon the final page 
To the failing eye of Age, 
Scribbled closely to the ending — 
And, if marred, past hope of mending, 



1828. 



192 



A POETS FAVOURITE. 

Oh she is guileless as the birds 

That sing beside the summer brooks ! 

With music in her gentle words, 
With magic in her winsome looks. 

With beauty by all eyes confessed, 
With grace beyond the reach of art ; 

And, better still than all the rest, 
With perfect singleness of heart. 

With kindness like a noiseless spring 
That faileth ne'er in heat or cold ; 

With fancy like the wild-dove's wing, 
As innocent as it is bold. 

With sympathies that have their birth 
Where woman's best affections lie ; 

With hopes that hover o'er the earth, 
But fix their resting-place on high. 

And if, with all that thus exalts 
A soul by sweet thoughts sanctified, 

This dear one has her human faults, 
They ever ' lean to Virtue's side.' 



1826. 



J 93 



ON A VIEW OF SPOLETO. 

— ■* — 

A scene such as we picture in our dreams : 
Grey castled rocks, green woods, and glittering streams ; 
Mountains in massive grandeur towering high ; 
Spires gleaming in the soft Ausonian sky ; 
Groves, gardens, villas, in their rich array ; 
Majestic ruins, glorious in decay ; 
Marvels by Art and Nature jointly wrought — 
And every stone instinct with teeming thought : 
Such look'st thou, fair Spoleto ! — And the Art 
That through the eye speaks volumes to the heart, 
Lifting the veil that envious distance drew, 
Reveals thee, bathed in beauty, to our view ; 
Each feature so distinct — so freshly fair, 
We almost seem to scent thy mountain air- 
Breathing upon us from yon clump of pines, 
Where the blithe goatherd 'mid his flock reclines. 

How rich the landscape ! — opening, as we look, 
To many a sacred fane and sylvan nook ; 
While through the vale, by antique arches spanned, 
The river, like some stream of Fairyland, 
Pours its bright waters, — with deep solemn sound, 
As if rehearsing to the rocks around 
The tale of other times. Methinks I hear 
Its dream-like murmur melting on the ear, — 
Telling of mighty chiefs whose deeds sublime 
Loom out gigantic o'er the gulfs of Time ; 
Of the stern African whose conquering powers 
Recoiled abashed from these heroic towers ; 



194 ON A VIEW OF SP0LET0. 

Of him who, when Rome's glorious days were gone, 
Built yon grim pile to prop his Gothic throne ; 

Of Belisarius, Narses But 'twere vain 

To weave such names into this idle strain ; 

These mouldering mounds their towering aims proclaim, 

— The historic Muse hath given their acts to fame. 

Spoleto ! midst thy hills and storied piles, 
Thy classic haunts and legendary aisles, 
'Twere sweet, methinks, ere life hath passed away, 
To spend one long, reflective summer's day ; 
Beneath those quiet shades my limbs to cast, 
And muse o'er all that links thee to the past ; 
To linger on, through twilight's wizard hour, 
Till the wan moon gleamed high o'er rock and tower, 
And, with her necromantic lustre strange, 
Lit up the landscape with a solemn change — 
Gilding its grandeur into sad relief, 
Like a pale widow stately in her grief. 

So rose this scene on Rogeks' classic eye — 
And thus, embalmed in words that ne'er could die, 
Its touching image had remained enshrined, 
Had he to verse transferred it from his mind. 
Far other fate awaits this rustic lay, 
Framed for the passing purpose of a day : 
Enough for me if he its tone commend 
Whom 'tis a pride and grace to call my Friend. 

1829. 



19 



VERSES, 

ON THE RESTORATION OF DESPOTISM IN SPAIN, IN 1823. 



ir Tis the old tale ! perfidious wars, 

And forts and fields for tyrants gain'd ; 

And kings, and emperors, and czars, 
Colleagued to hold mankind enchain'd. 

'Tis the old tale ! — an abject race, 
To wisdom, virtue, mercy blind, 

Resumes the jealous despot's place, 
Triumphant o'er man's soaring mind. 

And Freedom's hopes again are crush'd, 
All soil'd the flag she late unfurFd, 

Her song upon the mountains hush'd, — 
While sullen gloom pervades the world. 

And, one by one, each glorious light 
Is quench' d at foul Oppression's nod, 

Whose league unhallow'd courts the night, 
To clinch the chain and ply the rod. 

Thus sink the stars in sickening gloom, 
And poisonous fogs the heavens infold, 

When fiends and ghouls forsake the tomb, 
Their hellish sacrament to hold ! 
o2 



196 



VERSES. 

And now, as erst in elder days, 
The patriot earns a traitor's fame ; 

And Mina, like sad Brutus, says-— 
" Virtue is but an empty name ! " 

Alas, for Spain ! that fiercely fought, 

Nor vainly, gainst a nobler foe ; 
Now, by the Bourbon sold and bought, 
And shamed and sunk without a blow. 

Degraded Spain ! a fitting fate 

Awaits her with her recreant chief ; 

Foul superstition, fraud, and hate, 
And mockery amidst her grief. 

Alas, for craven Italy ! 

That chants in Austria's iron cage 
Her soft voluptuous minstrelsy, 

To charm the brutal Vandal's rage. 

And thou, betray'd, insulted Pole, 
And Saxon of the Elbe and Rhine, 

I see the iron pierce your soul, 

The tears commingling with your wine. 

I hear deep curses mutter 1 d low, 

See fingers grasp the warrior's brand, 

To burst the bondman's chain — But, no ! 
Ye have the heart without the hand. 

But now my glance to England turns, 
Whose beacon light, 'midst ocean set 

Impregnable, for ever burns, 
To tell where Freedom lingers yet. 



VERSES. 1 97 

And to that guardian Isle, the eye 

Of fettered Europe fondly bends, 
Waiting for England's battle cry 

To rouse the earth's remotest ends. 

And slumberest thou, my Native Land ! 

While Slaves and Despots league around ? 
Ah ! where is Chatham's high command, 

To bid thy warning trumpet sound ? 

And where is Chatham's mighty Son ? 

And he — the thunderbolt of war 
That shiver'd all he struck upon — 

The Chief of Nile and Trafalgar ! 

And where are Fox and Sheridan — 

Of Freedom's friends were they the last ? 

Remains there not a living man 
Still fit to sound that signal blast ? 

Yes, hark !' — it sounds ! — I hear it now — 

And Britain rouses at the peal, 
And binds the helmet on her brow, 

And grasps once more the glittering steel 

Her mighty voice is on the breeze — 

Her martial step is on the plain — 
Her flag's afloat upon the seas — 

To bid the world be free again ! 

Uprise the nations at her call, — 

As once they started with a bound 
To hurl to earth the tyrant Gaul, 

Who fiercely trod them to the ground. 



198 THE REFUGEES. 

But not, as then, to stoop their necks 
Again beneath the despot's yoke ; 

And idly champ the curb — that checks 
The fretful spirit it has broke. 

No ! Courts and Congresses must yield 
To Nations bursting from their chain — 

And, under Britain's guardian shield, 
Law, Freedom, Truth, begin their reign. 

1823. 



THE REFUGEES. 



'Tis Summer — 'neath the brilliant sky 
Of fair Castile or Italy. 
The sighing breeze just stirs the bower, 
Rich with the spoils of fruit and flower ; 
Above, the marble porch is gleaming ; 
Below, the sparkling fount is streaming : 
And circling woodlands stretch their shade 
O'er linpid stream and lawny glade. 

It is a lovely spot ; and there 
Are happy hearts its joys to share : 
Yon group that o'er the lakelet's brim 
Watch where the swans in beauty swim ; 
And, there the sage released from toils, 
The warrior won from battle broils. 
The lady in her matron charms, 
The laughing girl with clasping arms 



THE KEFUGEES. 199 

Around her brothers neck, — and she 
Who dandles on her dancing knee 
The infant crowing wild with glee. 

A graceful group — a joyous scene ! — 
But turn we now from what hath been, 
And follow far that gentle band 
In exile from their native land, 
'Midst wreck of those who dared proclaim 
To trampled nations Freedom's name. 

It was their crime to hope too high 
Of their falFn country's destiny : 
And villany was prompt and strong, 
And England held her hand too long, 
Till, quenched once more in blood and shame, 
Expired fair Freedom's rising flame ; 
And now the remnant of her train 
From Naples, Portugal, and Spain, 
The high of heart, the fair, the young, 
Like sea-weed by the waters flung, 
Upon our British shores are lying — 
For famine in our land are dying ! 

God of our fathers ! and shall we 
The offspring of the brave and free — 
Of men who freely poured their veins 
To ransom us from servile chains — 
Shall we in this their evil day 
From these sad exiles turn away \ 
From their despair our faces hide, 
Besotted with our selfish pride, 
And shut our sordid hearts and hands, 
AVhen man implores and God commands ? 



200 



THE REFUGEES. 

Oh, no ! the thought I will not brook 
That gentle eyes, which here may look 
On pictured scene or poet's lay, 
Will turn in apathy away, 
While thus the stranger, at our gate, 
Sinks destitute and desolate ! 
No ! though the train of pampered pride 
Pass by " upon the other side," 
As did the Pharisee of old, 
Yet there are hearts of better mould 
High throbbing in Old England's breast - 
Ten thousand hearts that will not rest 
Till they have succoured the distressed — 
To whom even this brief hurried strain 
I know will not appeal in vain : 
And foremost of that generous band 
Are they, the ladies of our land, 
Whose bounty, like the dew of heaven, 
Though silently is freely given. 

Enough —the blush — the starting tear 
Reveal the purpose nobly dear ! 
And see ! the Exile's languid eyes 
Are lightened up in glad surprise, 
As, wakening from despair's wild trance, 
Kind faces meet his wildered glance. 
— Enough ! — here let the curtain fall : 
Hearts that can feel will picture all- — 
All that my verse may not unfold 
Of meeting minds of generous mould. 

Sept. 1828. 



201 



SPANIARDS, YIELD NOT TO DESPAIR. 

(written for music.) 



Spaniards, yield not to despair ! 

Sink not, Portuguese, forlorn ! 
Wintry nights are worst to bear 

Just before the break of morn. 

Though down-trampled in the dust 

By the traitor's cruel heel, 
Freedom's cause ye hold in trust — 

Falter not for rack or wheel. 
Spaniards, yield not to despair ! 

Hunted from your native strand 

By the Blood-hounds Hate and Fear, 

Sink not yet, high-hearted band, 
Retribution's hour is near. 
Spaniards, yield not to despair ! 

Lo ! yon perjured caitiff slaves, 

While they clinch their country's chain. 
Tremble even amidst the graves 

Of the victims they have slain. 
Spaniards, yield not to despair ! 

Let them tremble ! — they have cause 
Loudest when they rant and boast ; 

Freedom on her march may pause, 
But her battle ne'er is lost. 
Spaniards, yield not to despair ! 



202 OUR NEIGHBOUR. 

Though the tyrant's bitter taunt 
Sting you like a viper foul, 

Though Despite and Famine gaunt 
Like hysenas round you howl — 
Spaniards, yield not to despair ! 

Though your dearest blood may flow, 
On the scaffold or the plain, 

Though your bravest be laid low 
Ere their country rise again — 
Spaniards, yield not to despair ! 

Ne'er in vain the patriot dies : 

Pours he not life's fountain free 
Servile millions to baptize 
Proselytes of Liberty ! 

Spaniards, yield not to despair ! 
1829. 



OUR NEIGHBOUR. 

LUKE X. 2,9. 



" Who is my neighbour V — Selfishness replies, 
" The man who best can aid your steps to rise ; 
The powerful — for whose favour all contend ; 
The wealthy — who may prove a useful friend ; 
The fashionable — whose notice is a grace ; 
In short, whoe'er is forward in the race 
Of worldly honour. Such as lag behind, 
The poor, th' oppressed, the wretched of mankind, - 
If you are prudent, from their presence fly — 
Leave them to Providence, and pass them by." 



THE VALLEY OF HUMAN LIFE. 203 



MEMENTO. 



My Son, be this thy simple plan : 
Serve God, and love thy brother man ; 
Forget not in temptation's hour, 
That Sin lends Sorrow double power ; 
Count life a stage upon thy way, 
And follow Conscience, come what may 
Alike with heaven and earth sincere, 
With hand, and brow, and bosom clear, 
' Fear God— and know no other fear.' 



THE VALLEY OF HUMAN LIFE. 

A FRAGMENT. 



" O see ye not yon narrow road, 
So thick beset with thorns and briars? 
That is the path of Righteousness, 
Though after it but few enquires. 

" And see ye not that braid braid road, 
That lies across that lily leven ? 
That is the path of Wickedness, 
Though some call it the road to heaven. 11 

Old Ballad. 

Mbthought a valley wild and wide, 
With granite cliffs on either side 
Embattled, stretched from sea to sea : 
Old Ocean's voice came dreamily 



204 THE VALLEY OF HUMAN LIFE. 

From its dim openings east and west, 
Where clouds and misty vapours rest : 
And from beneath the eastern cloud 
Of human kind a countless crowd, 
Methought, were landing evermore, 
Like seafowl nocking to the shore, 
And up that vale incessant wending 
In a train that had no ending. 

Then, lifting up my eyes to view 
The path this multitude pursue, 
I straight beheld a giant mound 
Stretching across the valley ground, 
So high the eagle's wing would fail 
Its sky-topt battlements to scale. 
Soon by that rampart's frowning wall 
I stood, and heard a herald's call ; 
While, like the current of a river, 
The human tide rolled on for ever. 

Two passages received that tide ; 
The one, a gateway large and wide, 
Like a triumphal arch bestrode 
The level highway, sweeping broad 
Right through the rampart to the left : 
The other, like some fissure cleft 
By earthquake or volcanic fires, 
All overgrown with thorns and briars, 
Appeared so dismal, strange, and rude, 
That of the countless multitude, 
Methought, comparatively few 
Sought there to find a passage through. 

But by that rugged entrance stood 
A herald, grave, yet mild of mood, 



THE VALLEY OF HUMAN LIFE. 205 

Proclaiming, in high solemn strain, 

That all who peace and rest would gain, 

Or "scape the fierce Pursuers wrath, 

Must enter by the Narrow Path. 

And, as he cried aloud, I saw 

That many heard the voice with awe, 

Hushed a brief space their boisterous din, 

And turned, as if to enter in 

By that rude portal ; till amain 

From the great gate some mirthful strain 

Lured back their giddy hearts again. 

Then, looking to the left, a blaze 
Of dazzling lustre caught my gaze, 
Where by the gate a lady sate, 
In queenly guise, on throne of state : 
She wore a crown of gems and gold ; 
Her robe was loose, her looks were bold ; 
And round her a voluptuous train 
Of bacchanals and jugglers vain 
Were dancing to a Lydian measure : 
It was the court of Worldly Pleasure. 
And thus unto the passing crowd 
The cunning Sorceress cried aloud : — 

" Heed not, my friends, the frantic call 
Of that old maniac, by the wall ! 
The dismal chasm he calls a path 
(A relic of some earthquake's wrath) 
"Mong savage rocks and grottoes wending, 
Must end — if it has any ending — 
In some dark gulf or dreary bourne 
Whence living wight shall ne'er return ! 

Come hither ; this way bends the road, 
Well- paved and pleasant, smooth and broad, 



206 THE VALLEY OF HUMAN LIFE. 

Which none but madmen would forsake 
For yon wild track by cliff and brake. 
Come hither ; cast off foolish fear ; 
The Land of Pleasure lieth here. 
Look through the gate : behold the bowers 
Of citron, shedding fruits and flowers ; 
The groves of palm by limpid brooks ; 
The grottoes cool, the grassy nooks ; 
The banks where joyous groups recline, 
With music solaced and with wine. 
Come, enter freely the domain 
Where I, indulgent empress, reign : 
Each moment lost is wasted time, 
Till you have gained that luscious clime : 
Haste then, and every sense employ — 
For life was given you to enjoy." 

The Enchantress thus : and, with a shout 
Of high acclaim, the heedless rout 
Pressed through the portal's mighty jaws. 
Yet many made a doubtful pause, 
And some (too few, alas ! were they) 
Recoiled, and took the Narrow Way. 
The rest irresolutely stand, 
Gazing on the delicious land 
Within : yet blushing, as with shame, 
To look on that seductive dame, 
And those who danced around her throne 
With drunken gait and loosened zone : 
And oft, as if with sudden fright, 
They glanced with terror to the right, 
Whence rose the herald's warning cry — 
" From the Betrayer hither fly !" 

Then that Witch with smiling malice 
Quickly seized a golden chalice, 



THE VALLEY OF HUMAN LIFE. 207 

And its charmed mixture threw, 
Sprinkling all that hapless crew — 
Those alike who hasten in 
And those who halt, but fly not sin — 
" Thus, 11 she said, " I make you mine 
By a sure baptismal sign ! " 
Then, submissive to her call, 
Through the huge gate hurried all. 

Soon or slow the fiendish spell 
Wrought on all on whom it fell : 
While I gazed, a fearful change 
Came o'er all with aspect strange : 
By degrees the human face 
Lost each intellectual trace, 
And the features took the cast 
Of the bestial kind at last. 
Yet still within the eyes there dwelt 
A look as if the wretches felt 
A hateful consciousness of harm, 
Produced by that prevailing charm, 
Which gave man's countenance divine 
The expression of the wolf or swine. 



208 



LINES 

TO THE MEMORY OF THE REV. DR. WAUGH, 



Whoe'er thou art whose eye may hither bend, 
If thou art human, here behold a friend. 
Art thou of Christ's disciples ? He was one 
Like him whose bosom Jesus leant upon. 
Art thou a sinner burthened with thy grief? 
His life was spent proclaiming sin's relief. 
Art thou an unbeliever ? He could feel 
Much for the patient whom he could not heal. 
Whatever thy station, creed, condition be, 
This man of God has cared and prayed for thee. 

Do riches, honours, pleasures, smile around ? 
He would have shown thee where alone is found 
Their true enjoyment — on the Christian plan 
Of holiness to God and love to man. 
Are poverty, disease, disgrace, despair, 
The ills, the anguish to which flesh is heir, 
Thy household inmates \ — Yea, even such as thee 
He hailed as brothers of humanity ; 
And gave his hand and heart, and toiled and pled, 
Till nakedness was clothed and hunger fed ; 
Till pain was soothed, and even the fiend Despair 
Confessed a stronger arm than his was there. 

And ye far habitants of heathen lands, 
For you he raised his voice and stretched his hands ; 
And taught new-wakened sympathy to start 
With generous throb through many a British heart ; 



LINES ON THE REV. DR. WAUGH. 209 

Till wide o'er farthest oceans waved the sail 
That bade in Jesus' name the nations hail. 
And Afric's wastes and wildered Hindostan 
Heard the glad tidings of good will to man. 

Such was his public ministry. And they 
Through life who loved him till his latest day, 
Of many a noble, gentle trait can tell, 
That, as a man, friend, father, marked him well : 
The frank simplicity ; the cordial flow 
Of kind affection ; the enthusiast glow 
That love of Nature or his Native Land 
Would kindle in those eyes so bright and bland ; 
The unstudied eloquence that from his tongue 
Fell like the fresh dews by the breezes flung 
From fragrant w<^ J1 lids ; the benignant look 
That like a ra earned through his rebuke — 

Rebuke more than a despot's frown, 

For sorrow mc anger called it down ; 

The winning ws indliness of speech, 

With which he wont the little ones to teach, 
As round his chair like clustering doves they clung — 
For, like his Master, much he loved the young. 

These, and unnumbered traits like these, my verse 
Could fondly dwell upon : but o'er his hearse 
A passing wreath I may but stop to cast, 
Of love and grateful reverence the last 
Poor earthly token. Weeping mourners here 
Perchance may count such frail memorial dear, 
Though vain and valueless it be to him 
Who tunes his golden harp amidst the seraphim ! 



1827 



210 



A HYMN. 



When morn awakes our hearts, 

To pour the matin prayer ; 
When toil-worn day departs, 

And gives a pause to care ; 
When those our souls love best 

Kneel with us, in thy fear, 
To ask thy peace and rest — 

Oh God our Father, hear ! 

When worldly snares without, 

And evil thoughts within, 
Stir up some impious doubt, 

Or lure us back to sin ; 
When human strength proves frail, 

And will but half sincere ; 
When faith begins to fail — 

Oh God our Father, hear ! 

When in our cup of mirth 

The drop of trembling falls, 
And the frail props of earth 

Are crumbling round our walls ; 
When back we gaze with grief, 

And forward glance with fear ; 
When faileth man's relief— 

Oh God our Father, hear ! 



INSCRIPTION. 211 



When on the verge we stand 

Of the eternal clime, 
And Death with solemn hand 

Draws back the veil of Time ; 
When flesh and spirit quake 

Before Thee to appear — 
For the Redeemer's sake, 

Oh God our Father, hear ! 
1830. 



INSCRIPTION, 

FOR A TOMB-STONE IN THE BURIAL-GROUND AT DRYBURUH ABBEY. 



A Scottish patriarch lies buried here ; 

An upright man, a Christian sincere ; 

A frugal husbandman of th' olden style, 

Who lived and died near this monastic pile. 

A stone-cast from this spot his dwelling stood ; 

His farm lay down the margin of the flood ; 

Those moss-grown abbey orchards filled his store, 

Though now scarce blooms a tree he trained of yore ; 

Amidst these ivied cloisters hived his bees ; 

Here his young children gambolled round his knees ; 

And duly here, at morn and evening's close, 

His solemn hymn of household worship rose. 

His memory now hath perished from this place, 
And over many lands his venturous race 
Are scattered widely : some are in the grave ; 
Some still survive in Britain ; ocean's wave 
Hath wafted many to far Western woods 
Laved by Ohio's and Ontario's Hoods : 



212 INSCRIPTION. 

Another ban.d beneath the Southern skies 

Have built their homes where Caffer mountains rise, 

And taught wild Mancazana's willowy vale 

The simple strains of Scottish Teviotdale. 

A wanderer of the race, from distant climes 
Revisiting this spot, hath penned these rhymes, 
And raised this stone, to guard, in hallowed trust, 
His kindred's memory and great-grandsire's dust ; 
Resting in hope, that at the Saviour's feet 
They yet may re-unite, when Zion's pilgrims meet. 

1830. 



NOTES. 



1. — The elf-enchanted Hanging- Stone, — P. 119, 1. 8. 

The Hanging-Stone is a crag on the northern hrow of Cheviot, impending over a rocky 
chasm called Hell's Hole, with which some ancient, but indistinct, popular traditions 
are associated. 



2. — From BowmonVs banks P. 119, 1. 25. 

Beaumont or Bowmont Water is a sequestered pastoral stream in the south-eastern 
extremity of Roxburghshire, which, after crossing the English border, joins the river 
Till near Flodden Field. 

The friend to whom the "Autumnal Excursion" is addressed, (that poem being 
originally designed as a mere rhyming epistle, without any view to publication,) is a 
native of the Vale of Beaumont. The author and he were born in adjoining parishes, 
amid the secluded glens of Cheviot, and were inseparable associates in early youth ; 
and, though our pursuits in maturer life have been widely different, it is not the less 
pleasing to look back over a twenty years' friendship, which no selfish jealousy has ever 
disturbed, or coldness interrupted, or even long separation impaired. My old com- 
panion and valued friend will, I trust, excuse this slight expression of affectionate 

remembrance, and forgive me for adding that the R S of my little poem, 

though not the Poet Laureate of England, (as the Quarterly Review once supposed,) 
is a person who fears God, and loves mankind not less sincerely — namely, the Rev. 
Robert Story, minister of Roseneath. 

3. — To the rude verge of dark Lochskene — P. 119, 1. 26. 

Lochskcne is a wild mountain lake at the head of Moffat Water, on the borders of 
Dumfriesshire. 

4. a refuge given 

To outlaws in the cause of Heaven. — P. 119, 1. 33,34. 

The persecuted covenanters, when outlawed and hunted down in the evil times of 
Charles II. and James II., often found a temporary refuge among the secluded moor- 
land recessc- of the Border mountains. 



214 



NOTES. 



5.- — The despots 1 champion, Bloody Graham, — P. 120, 1. 16. 

The celebrated James Graham, of Claverhouse, afterwards created Viscount Dundee, 
was a man of eminent talent and audacious enterprise ; and these qualities have pro- 
cured him, even in our own times, zealous eulogists, or at least very partial apologists. 
His real character, however, as drawn in the stern lines of truth and justice, by my 
old and reverend friend Dr. M'Crie, is recorded in the following passage, which, as it is 
only to be found in the columns of a provincial journal, the reader will probably not 
be displeased to have here presented to him : — 

" Claverhouse was not in Scotland at the beginning of the persecution, but he had 
been employed in it as the captain of an independent troop, at least two years before 
the affair at Drumclog. His behaviour soon recommended him to his employers. 
Officers not distinguished for humanity, and sufficiently disposed to execute the orders 
which they received with rigour, had been previously employed by the court. But the 
deeds of Turner, Bannatyne, Grierson of Lagg, and General Dalziel, were soon eclipsed 
by those of Grahame, who long continued to be known in Scotland by the name of 
Bloody Claverhouse. His actions, as recorded in the history of those times, do cer- 
tainly prove that he was not undeserving of this appellation. A brief reference to some 
of these will assist us in judging of the character which the author has given of him. 
We shall not speak of the blood wantonly shed by him in the pursuit of the Cove- 
nanters after their rout at Bothwell, nor of the ravages and cruelties which he com- 
mitted in Ayrshire and in Galloway during that and the succeeding year ; as it may be 
alleged that revenge for the disgrace which he had suffered at Loudon Hill, prompted 
him to acts not congenial to his natural disposition. But this feeling had sufficient 
time to subside before 1684. During that year he had the chief command in the west 
of Scotland, and he employed the most disgraceful and barbarous measures to discover 
those that were intercommuned, and, if possible, to exterminate the whole party. He 
sought out and employed persons who could, with the greatest address, feign themselves 
to be pious men, and friendly to Presbyterians, and by this means discovered their 
retreats, or drew them from places where they could not be attacked by his troops. 
Having divided the country into districts, he caused his soldiers to drive all the inhabit- 
ants of a district, like so many cattle, to a convenient place. He then called out a 
certain number of them, and, while his soldiers surrounded them with charged guns, 
and bloody threatenings, he made them swear that they owned the Duke of York as 
rightful successor to the throne. If they had formerly taken the test or abjuration 
oath, he interrogated them if they had repented of this, and then caused them to swear 
anew that they would not, under pain of losing their part in heaven, repent of it for 
the future. If any hesitated to swear, he was taken out a few paces from the rest, his 
face was covered with a napkin, and the soldiers ordered to fire over his head, to terrify 
him into compliance. At other times he gathered together all the children of a district, 
from six to ten years of age, and, having drawn up a party of soldiers before them, told 
them to pray, as they were going to be shot. When they were sufficiently frightened, 
he offered them their lives, provided they answered such questions as he proposed to 
them concerning their fathers, and such as visited their houses. Claverhouse scrupled 
not to take an active part in these disgraceful scenes, so far as to fire his own pistol 
twice over the head of a bov of nine years of asc, to induce him to discover his father. 



NOTES. 215 

He frequently shot those who fell into his power, though they were unarmed, without 
any form of trial ; and when his soldiers, sometimes shocked at the wantonness of his 
cruelty, hesitated in obeying his orders, he executed them himself. The case of John 
Brown, in the parish of Muirkirk, affords an example of this kind. He was a man of 
excellent character, and no way obnoxious to government, except for nonconformity. 
On the first of May, 1684, he was at work in the fields near to his own house, Avhen 
Claverhouse passed, on his way from Lismahago, with three troops of dragoons. It is 
probable that information of his nonconformity had been given to the Colonel, who 
caused him to be brought from the fields to his own door, and, after some interroga- 
tories, ordered him to be instantly shot. Brown being allowed a few minutes to pre- 
pare for death, prayed in such an affecting strain, that none of the soldiers, profane and 
hardened as they were, could be prevailed upon to fire ; upon which Claverhouse, irri- 
tated at the delay, shot him dead with his own hand, regardless of the tears and 
entreaties of the poor man's wife, who, far gone in her pregnancy, and attended by a 
young child, stood by. The afflicted widow could not refrain from upbraiding the 
murderer, and telling him that he must give an account to God for what he had done. 
To which the hardened and remorseless villain proudly replied, To man I can be 
anstcerable ; and as for God, I will take him into my own hand. — The apologists 
of Claverhouse have been obliged to notice the fact of his becoming the executioner of 
his own sentences, in the exercise of military discipline ; but, with their usual fertility 
in inventing excuses for his most glaring faults, and with their wonted ignorance of 
human nature, they impute such deeds of cold-blooded severity to a desire on his part 
to do honour to the individuals on whom the punishment was inflicted ! Thus Dal- 
rymple, after telling us that the only punishment which Claverhouse inflicted was 
death, and that all other punishments, in his opinion, disgraced a gentleman, states 
that, a young man having fled in the time of battle, he brought him to the front of the 
army, and, saying that ' a gentleman's son ought not to fall by the hands of a common 
executioner,' shot him with his own pistol. Those who recollect the case of poor 
Brown, who was neither a soldier nor a gentleman, will know how to treat this absurd 
and ridiculous allegation. 

" The most hardened and irreligious persecutors do not always feel, upon reflection, 
that ease of mind which they affect. It is said that Claverhouse acknowledged to 
some of his confidential friends, that Brown's prayer often intruded on his unwelcome 
thoughts ; and it is not improbable, that some degree of remorse at his late deed made 
him show an unwonted reluctance to a murder which he committed only ten days 
after. In one of his marauding expeditions, he seized Andrew Hislop, and carried him 
prisoner along with him to the house of Sir James Johnston of Wester-raw, without 
any design, it would appear, of putting him to death. As Hislop was taken on his lands, 
Wester-raw insisted on passing sentence of death on him. Claverhouse opposed this, 
and pressed a delay of the execution ; but his host urging him, he yielded, saying, 
• The blood of this poor man be upon you, Wester-raw ; I am free of it.' A Highland 
gentleman, who was traversing the country, having come that way with a company of 
soldiers, Claverhouse meanly endeavoured to make him the executioner of Wester- 
raw's sentence; but that gentleman, having more humanity, and a higher sense of 
honour, drew off his men to souk distance, and swore that he would fight Colonel 
Grahame sooner than perform BUch an office. Upon this, Claverhouse ordered three 
of his own soldiers to do it. When they were ready to fire, they desired Hislop to 



216 NOTES. 

draw his bonnet over his face, but he refused, telling them, that he had done nothing 
of which he had reason to be ashamed, and could look them in the face without fear ; 
and holding up his Bible in one of his hands, and reminding them of the account which 
they had to render, he received the contents of their muskets in his body. — Say, 
reader, who was the hero, and who the coward, on this occasion ? We have no doubt 
that every person of genuine feeling, and whose judgment is unwarped by prejudice, 
will pronounce, that this man met his death with truer and more praiseworthy courage 
than Claverhouse afterwards did, when he "died ' in the arms of victory,' to use the 
canting language of certain historians, ' and wiped off the stain which he had con- 
tracted by his cruelties to the Covenanters ;' a stain which no victory, however bril- 
liant, could efface, and which all the art and labour of his most eloquent apologists, 
instead of covering, will only serve to bring more clearly into view." — Edinburgh 
Christian Instructor, vol. XIV. p. 63. 



6. — ' Mong CayWs fair cottages and towers. — P. 122, 1. 8. 

The Cayla, or Cale- Water, is one of the many subsidiary branches of the river 
Teviot. Arising in the midst of the Cheviot mountains, it waters a pleasant pastoral 
valley, remote from all resorts of commerce or provincial bustle. Its name is conjec- 
tured by Chalmers, the author of Caledonia, to have been derived from the woody 
coverts which in ancient times covered its banks. Celli, in the British language, 
signifying a grove ; and Coille, in the Gaelic, a wood. 

Of the lofty woods which formerly embellished the banks of Cale- Water but 
scanty vestiges now remain in the upper part of its course. The landscape to a 
Southron eye would, perhaps, at first sight, appear somewhat bare : but the soft aspect 
of the smooth, verdant, yet lofty hills, which every where environ the dell traversed 
by the " wimpling stream ;" the quiet seclusion of its long winding haughs, adorned, 
here and there, with a solitary ash or birch-tree, or fringed with little brakes of haw- 
thorn, dwarf willow, broom, or wild briar ; and the deep stillness, broken only at 
times by the plaintive bleating of the milk-white sheep scattered over the declivities of 
the sunny hills, — give, all combined, a character of soothing simplicity to the land- 
scape, the touching charm of which is, perhaps, not often surpassed by scenery far 
more more varied and picturesque. 

An old ruin, called Corbet Tower, a favourite haunt of the author in his schoolboy 
days, still adorns the banks of Cale- Water, a little way from the village of More- 
battle. Hounam is the name of a neighbouring mountain, crowned with an ancient 
entrenchment. 



7. — Even he, in rustic verse, who told 

Of Scotland's champion— Wallace bold P. 122, 1. 28. 

The old Scottish minstrel, commonly called Blind Harry. 



NOTES. 217 

8. — Of Weeping Spirit of the Glen; 
Or Dragon of dark Wormeden ,* 
Of Ladies doomed by Rome's command 
To sift the Church-yard mound of sand.— P. 127, 1. 29—32. 

These lines refer to some of the popular superstitions and romantic legends of the 
Author's native district, the most interesting of which have heen commemorated in Sir 

Walter Scott's Minstrelsy of the Border See Scott's Poetical Works (edition of 

1833), vol. III. p. 236, and vol. I. p. 193. 



9. — To trace the shepherd's homelier tale; — P. 132, 1. 2. 

Old John Turnbull, the person alluded to — (for many years my father's shepherd, 
as his father had been shepherd to my grandfather) — was one of the worthiest, and, in 
his humble sphere, one of the most generous-hearted men, I ever knew. To the most 
reverential piety, he also united a rich vein of genuine humour and drollery, combined 
with a native delicacy of feeling, and regulated by a propriety of demeanour, that might 
do honour to any station. My old friend, however, was not without some of the here- 
ditary prejudices of his rank and nation. One of his characteristic traits was, a deter- 
mined detestation of the " Southron " of ancient times, and a sovereign contempt for 
those of the present ; and he always spoke of the Parliamentary Union as the " ruina- 
tion of Scotland." 



And though (if bodings be not vain) 

Far other roamings yet remain, 

In climes where, 'mid the unwonted vales, 

No early friend the wanderer hails, — P. 134, 1. 15 — 18. 

At the time these lines were written, in 1811, the Author entertained some 
thoughts of going abroad, perhaps permanently ; but lie had not the slightest anticipa- 
tion of the circumstances which, eight years afterwards, induced him to emigrate with 
his relatives to South Africa, and so singularly realized the "bodings" he thus 
expressed. 

And she, her vengeful boy to please, 

Strung his bow with captive bees ; — P. 139, 1. 15, 16. 

Camdeo, the Hindoo Cupid, is represented as a beautiful youth, bearing a bow of 
Migar-cane, with a siring of bees, and five arrows, each pointed with an Indian blos^ 
Bom of a pungent quality. 



good Sir William 's race — P. 187, 1. 5. 



Sir William Bonnet, of Grubct, was the early patron of the poets Thomson and 
Allan Ramsay. It was at his seat on Cale-Water, a branch of the Tcviot, that 
Thomson is said to have written several of his juvenile pieces ; and there is still a tra- 

Q 



218 NOTES. 

dition current in the vicinity, that the impressive description, in his "Winter," of a 
man perishing in the snows, was suggested by an affecting incident of this sort which 
occurred at Wideopen, a neighbouring farm, during one of the poet's Christmas visits. 
Grubet is now a mere pastoral hamlet. The last of Sir William's descendants was 
"gathered to his place," as the country people quaintly but touchingly express it, 
about seventy years ago. 



Old Madge the Spaewife, P. 187, 1. 15. 

Madge the Spaewife is not a sketch from fancy but from real life ; although I have, 
in some respects, blended the features of two different gipsies of this name and voca- 
tion, who were personally known to me in early youth. The younger of these may 
possibly be still alive ; the elder was Madge Gordon, a grand-daughter, 1 believe, of 
the famous Jean Gordon (the now acknowledged prototype of Meg Merrilies), and 
who, in my schoolboy days, was accounted a sort of queen among the gipsies of Yet- 
holm. 



Marvels by Art and Nature jointly wrought — 

And every stone instinct with teeming thought: — P. 193, 1. 7, 8. 

" The ancient town of Spoletum is situated on the side and summit of a hill. It is 
well known that Hannibal attacked this town immediately after the defeat of the 
Romans at Thrasimenus ; and the inhabitants still glory in having repulsed the Cartha- 
ginian general, flushed as he was with conquest, and certain of success. -An ancient 
gate commemorates this event, so honourable to the people of Spoleto, in an inscrip- 
tion on the great arch. . . . Some vast masses of stone, forming the piers of a bridge, 
the ruins of a theatre, and of a temple said to be dedicated to Concord, as being 
Roman, deserve a passing look. The Cathedral, in a commanding situation, presents 
a front of five Gothic arches, supported by Grecian columns, and within consists of a 
Latin cross, with a double range of pillars. The order is Corinthian. The two side 
altars are uncommonly beautiful. Two vast candelabra, near the high altar, deserve 

attention The view from the terrace of the Cathedral is very extensive and 

beautiful. Near it, a very fine fountain of an elegant form pours out, though near 
the summit of a high hill, a torrent of the purest water 

" The castle is a monument of barbarous antiquity, built by Theodoric, destroyed 
during the Gothic war, and repaired by Narses, the rival and successor of Belisarius. 
It is a vast stone building, surrounded by a stone rampart, standing on a high hill 

that overlooks the town Behind the Castle, a celebrated aqueduct, supported by 

arches of an astonishing elevation, runs across a deep dell, and, by a bridge, unites the 
town with the noble hill that rises behind it, called Monte Luco. This latter is 
covered with evergreen oaks, and adorned by the white cells of a tribe of hermits, 

established on its shaded sides The aqueduct is Roman, but said to have been 

repaired by the Goths." — Eustace. 

This romantic town and its monumental environs have been particularly mentioned 
also by Forsyth, La Lande, and other travellers in Italy, to whom the reader may 



NOTES. 219 

refer. The following slight but interesting notice is extracted from the MS. note-hook 
of my accomplished friend, Mr. Rogers the poet : — " Spoleto, with its walls and tur- 
rets, soon appeared on the mountain side The gate of Hannibal The 

gigantic aqueduct crossing a deep and unfathomable chasm Saw it by moon- 
light ; and its vastness and entireness, connecting us at once with 6ome mighty and 
unknown people, affected me deeply." 

For famine in our land are dying ! — P. 199, 1. 21. 

These lines were written in September, 1828, when the Spanish and Italian 
refugees in England were reduced to extreme destitution ; and they were adapted to a 
picture in "Friendship's Offering," and published there with the view of aiding, how- 
ever humbly, the appeal then made in England for pecuniary support to them. 



LONDON : 

id kv BRADBURY AND EVANS, wniTKKrwAR.s. 



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